


The House on Trost Street

by numbjaw



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dead Marco Bott, Drinking, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Ghost Marco Bott, Ghosts, Haunted Houses, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild manga spoilers, Minor Violence, Murder, POV First Person, Past Character Death, Poltergeists, Rating May Change, Some Humor, Swearing, Tags May Change, Warnings May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-07-06 17:12:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15890430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/numbjaw/pseuds/numbjaw
Summary: As a college dropout and long-term retail sales associate at Titan’s, Jean Kirstein doesn’t have much to brag about until he rents out a house on his own, much to the criticism of his coworkers who are convinced it is haunted. Refusing to back down over dumb superstitions, Jean vehemently ignores the cold spots, the leaking sinks, and the ever-present feeling of being watched…Meanwhile, a previous resident of the house finds themselves growing attached to the new and seemingly fearless tenant - and consequently worried over the true danger of the house on Trost Street.





	1. About Paradis (Prologue)

**Paradis, South Dakota.**

**Population: 6,237**

Known mostly for having a total of three bridges, overgrown spruce trees, and a whopping two - yes, two - Walmarts. Home of retired, somewhat-religious folks who didn’t need Facebook to know all of your personal business, but also an entire generation of millennial trash like myself to balance it out.

Like the people, the weather had a similar contrast: hot, muggy summers, with the kind of humidity that made you question your existence, followed by long, cruel winters that made you wonder why anyone decided to live there in the first place. Seriously, who the hell arrives somewhere in a blizzard, stops, and says “this is perfect”?

In short, look up the word “exciting” in the dictionary and then try your hardest to imagine the exact opposite, and you’d have Paradis - where maybe the only thing worth looking forward to was the Harvest Festival every year.

Still, it was home. It was the place where trees grew up with you, with no threat of being replaced by noisy skyscrapers and parking lots. It was where you could see the stars every night - granted the weather was fair. Big cities might've had the glitz, the glamour, and the fun, but Paradis had something a bit more tangible and real.

I didn’t always see it that way, though.

It took meeting him to change everything for me.


	2. July

I went into work one afternoon to find Eren huddled beside the timeclock, staring intently at his watch with the kind of smile I could only describe as _murderous_. Outloud, he was counting down the current minute, much to the disdain of Armin and Mikasa nearby. It didn't take me a second more to figure out he was timing me. _Again._

"Not today, Yeager," I said, punching my employee ID number into the timeclock while watching the realization that I (technically) wasn’t late settle over Eren’s features. He seemed nothing short of disappointed, so I couldn't help but ask, "How many seconds before it was official?"

"Seven." Eren responded coldly, "You know, just because they give us a five minute window to clock in doesn't mean you can be five minutes late _every time_."

I felt my eyebrows raise slightly right before falling into a scowl. "Sorry, does your name tag say 'manager'? Because until it does, I don't think when I clock in is any of your damn business."

As soon as the words left my mouth, Mikasa was rushing in to grab Eren and hold him back; she was quick - I hadn’t even seen him charge. Armin darted in between the three of us with his arms out, warning us about the security cameras and I could only roll my eyes.

"Nobody ever watches those damn things," I told him, to which Eren agreed. I shot him a glare: _don’t agree with me, idiot, we’re fighting!_

Sometimes, I sincerely wished Mikasa would just _let_ Eren punch me. But it never happened. It never happened in high school. It never happened after we graduated. It never happened at work, for obvious reasons, but it never even happened at parties, either - which, come to think of it, I hadn't gotten an invite in a while. I liked to think she held Eren back because she ~~loved~~  cared about me, but it was definitely because she cared about Eren more. Only took me a few years of trying to finally get that much... as for _why_ \- hell if I knew.

Eren muttered a couple more words about my tardiness and shitty attitude, his greenish-blue eyes all aglow, but in a total reversal of my usual, I refrained from saying anything else and took off to my department, if only for Mikasa and Armin's sake. There was most likely a ton of freight to sort through, and we still had to prep for the 4th of July sale that was coming up in two days. And _this_ was just the shit I was dealing with at work, not to mention everything going on off-the-clock. In the grand scheme of things, Eren Yaeger was the last thing I cared about right then.

Once I was out of everyone’s sight, I stopped in the middle of the main aisle to adjust my vest and take in the fluorescent-bathed linoleum that I'd grown to hate so much over the past two years. Over the radio, some dated pop music was playing, and despite my disappointment, I wasn’t entirely surprised; it was _always_ on the pop station. God-forbid they ever switched it to alternative rock every once and a while; I hated pop music. I shook my head and continued on, accepting my fate at Titan’s for the next eight and a half hours.

* * *

So, in short, Titan’s was an athlete’s dream store: they prioritized products for every sport that ever existed, but they also had everything from gym and exercise equipment, to bicycles, clothing - it went on and on. Our particular store even had a minibar for customers to sample the twelve varieties of vegan whey proteins that we offered. Yes, that’s right: vegan whey protein… in _fucking South Dakota_.

The one and only Sasha Blouse ran that minibar most days. I was pretty certain she was responsible for consuming most of the so-called “samples”, but nobody seemed to care that much, so long as corporate wasn’t around.

“Isn’t drinking too much of that stuff… bad?” I'd asked her once, to which she’d merely shrugged at me and kept drinking them.

In an odd way, I admired her mischief, but at the same, I envied it. I mean, it wasn’t that Sasha got away with murder; truth-be-told, she had a stack of write-ups about five inches thick in the office. No, it was the fact she never let it get to her. Me, though? I was too competitive, so I hated getting into trouble. Getting into trouble meant you did something wrong, and I hated being wrong about anything. But Sasha never saw reality that way - she wasn’t a troublemaker, she was just… Sasha. Protein Girl.

On the other end of the spectrum was our wonderful Eren Yeager, who you’ve already had the pleasure. Eren was an unfortunate full-timer in the clothing department, who (when he wasn't trying to get me fired) constantly complained about the mysterious life we were all missing outside of the store walls, the shotty management, and how his department was the “hardest” one to be in. In response, I often reminded him where the door was.

Unbeknownst to him, and everybody for that matter, I was usually only half-serious.

See, as much as Eren was a pain in my ass, the clothing department had honestly never looked better the entire time I'd worked there. I had to give the little upstart _some_ credit, I guess. I don’t know. I could appreciate Eren in short bursts, but was otherwise annoyed by him - more so, annoyed by the fact that everyone else seemed to look up to him. Especially Mikasa Ackerman, the most gorgeous cashier in the entire world (no disrespect to Krista - she was cute, too, but I guess I just have a thing for dark hair?) Anyways, where I could only achieve awkward small talk with Mikasa, Eren could ramble away for days about, I don’t know, conspiracies about the effectiveness of vitamins, and she’d take in his every word. There was no denying they had a particular closeness that only childhood friends could have. It wasn't like I was opposed, but sometimes I swear it just seemed so one-sided, like Eren hardly cared that Mikasa cared. Maybe I was just bitter and biased.

Armin Arlert, the newest hire, was a lot more pleasant, despite _somehow_ being Eren’s best friend. At least the guy made sense to me, and when we talked, it was always work-related and productive. He was seriously professional for his age and _damn_ if he knew how to turn around seriously unhappy customers. If he could shake his timid-streak, I was sure he could wind up being a store manager or even higher if he stuck it out long enough. He was really one of the very few coworkers I was actually relieved to be scheduled with, and that was saying a lot. The feeling seemed to be mutual between us, but much like Mikasa, Armin had a much stronger attachment to Eren that I couldn’t bring myself to ignore.

As long as Eren had an issue with me, I was sure the others would, too, even if they didn’t realize they did.

* * *

Closing shifts were for the birds.

I headed past the cycling department, my head tucked low, trying to avoid eye-contact with my other coworkers. It wasn't anything personal, Eren had just put me a shit mood right out the gate. My head was still racing. I was sure I'd say hello and be sociable once my blood pressure came back down and -

“Je-EEE-nnn!”

_Damn it._

“Jerry Springer."

Connie just laughed. “WHAT? Is _that_ the best you could come up with?"

“Oh, fuck off...” I felt myself say, with very little weight behind it.

Connie Springer and I had been going back and forth with my name since our orientation day, in which he’d continuously mispronounced my name to the point that he started doing it on purpose. On some occasions, I’d find labels Connie had placed over my name badge while I was off, reading everything from “JOHN”, “JOHNNY BOY” to “JOHN NOT JEEN”. I actually left the latter for a while until one day it was mysteriously replaced by “HORSE FACE” (I’ll let you take a guess on who came up with that one).

When Connie wasn’t goofing off with me or Sasha, he maintained all of the bicycles and gear, but his real specialty came in the form of knowing all of the blind spots from the security cameras - more useful than you’d think.

Not too far away from Connie was Ymir, who was assigned to janitorial duties, but you’d never know it by watching her. She usually just wandered around the store all day trying to look busy or was up front flirting with Krista. I had to give her points for persistence; I'd given up on Mikasa months ago. Erm, mostly.

At Titan’s, my home was with all of the gym equipment, alongside Marlowe and Hitch, another power pair in the store that really made me wonder if I actually had any friends. (Spoiler: the answer was no.)

The gym department wasn’t what I had signed up for originally. Dubbed resident “beanpole”, I honestly didn’t know jack shit about weight-lifting and had originally applied for cushy receiving position in the back. Well, for whatever reason, I was offered the gym associate position instead, and took it as an opportunity to learn more about the store. I had been confident of a quick and easy promotion, with the possibility of moving to receiving later, but now, nearly two years down the line without any form of progression, I had really started to wonder if it was a bad move to have accepted the job at all. Hell, I hadn’t even gotten employee of the month, when Ymir - who hardly did anything - had somehow gotten it twice? Needless to say, my morale was shit at this point.

I think it had a lot to do with our store manager, Levi. He didn’t seem to have any interest in store numbers or promoting anyone, and was much more invested in the _cleanliness_ of the store. Ymir was automatically a favorite just in her job title alone, the job she… y’know... _barely did_. With Levi around, we had to clean constantly, and for good reason. I really wasn’t too sure if I could go through the trauma of Levi finding dusty shelves in my department during a corporate visit ever again. Suddenly, the fact Ymir never worked made more sense - there was nothing that ever needed to be cleaned!

Right beneath Levi was the always-eccentric Hange. They were titled as an office manager, but from I could tell, they were mostly responsible for… well, being excited all the time? They were literally the _only_ person in the store who genuinely loved customers, whereas the rest of us saw them as terrifying, mindless creatures, who’s only objective was to destroy everything we worked so tirelessly to build…

Luckily, Tuesdays were slow days at Titan’s.

Marlowe Freudenberg, fellow gym associate with a last name that rivaled my own in terms of difficult spelling, seemed to have already blasted through the freight, leaving only a few products for me to price and stock.

“Save me anything fun?” I greeted him.

“Always.” Marlowe assured me without turning around, groaning as he lifted a few twenty-pound hand weights onto a nearby shelf. It rattled precariously for a second before it settled. I was really surprised they held as much weight as they did, because the shelves were cheap as shit. Marlowe grunted as he lifted up another weight.

“Don’t strain yourself.” I chuckled as I peered into the cart to see only a few pink, one-pound dumbbells. My jaw dropped. "Wait, that's it?!"

“Yeah, don’t strain yourself,” Marlowe just smiled and shrugged, “There wasn’t very much today."

“Obviously..." I murmured, tearing the thin, styrofoam padding from one of the dumbbells. “Do we even need to stock these? We had like a hundred of ‘em on the floor last I checked.”

“Probably not," Marlowe agreed, "Still need pricing, though.”

“Right...” I sighed. I felt a little guilty that Marlowe had done most of the work, even though it was out of my control for having the late shift. The truth was that even though I might’ve lost morale along the way, helping my coworkers was different to me than helping the company. I had a stubborn sense of duty that never let me slack off. “At least I can contribute _something_ today...”

“You're fine," Marlowe assured me, "You've had enough going on. How’s the move going, by the way?”

I felt myself still for a moment, my thoughts suddenly reflecting back to the house…

For just minute, I had almost forgot…

* * *

According to the owner who was renting it out to me, it was a recently-remodeled two-story Victorian that was among one of the oldest houses in Paradis. It had a massive rose garden and two hundred-year-old willow trees in the back that the original owners had planted on their wedding day. Inside, it sported four bedrooms and three baths in total, with an attic and a basement. Despite the remodel, it still retained most of its original wood, with updated varnish and appliances and a bunch of other crap that I winded up just skimming through in the pamphlet.

So, how the hell does a twenty-three year old like me afford the rent for a four bedroom house on their own? Easy. Other than my mom sorta-kinda knowing the owner (don’t judge me, damn it), I'd gotten a ridiculous lease on it: only a hundred dollars more than most studio apartments in the area.

The catch?

The catch…

The house was… well, this is where I start to lose most people, but bear with me.

The lease agreement had labeled it as a “stigmatized home”.

So, in other words, haunted.

I know, I know. I seriously had to refrain from laughing myself when the landlord told me this was why the rent was so cheap. I... really, _honestly_ thought she had been joking with me until she went on to explain the several deaths that had occurred on the property, with the most recent one happening only ten years prior, apparently to a young man around my age. Thanks for that, lady. I know it's a legality, but do you want my money or not? Apparently every single tenant she ever had complained of strange things going down and they never stayed longer than a month, but even so, I hadn't hesitated for a second before signing the lease. There was no way I was going to let ghost stories stop me from finally moving out of my mom's place.

* * *

“Move’s all over with,” I told Marlowe proudly, “Last of the boxes are in my car. I’m going there after work. First night there.”

“You scared?” Marlowe asked me suddenly. I felt my eyes narrow in his direction.

“Oh, please. You believe in that crap, too?”

Marlowe just nodded, without any trace of a smile. Yep. He was serious. “‘Course I believe it - it happened.”

“Yeah, maybe like… a hundred years ago.” I countered him.

“No, more like _ten years ago_.”

I rolled my eyes for about the fifteenth time since clocking in ten minutes ago. From the second I had mistakenly revealed _where_ I was moving to, everyone - literally everyone - had started teasing me over ghost stories. Even Mikasa got involved, and gave me a container of salt and some sage, and from that alone I realized that I never should've said a damn thing about it.

“You can ask Annie,” Marlowe went on, “She lived on that street, saw the whole thing. Even knew the family.” (Remember the security that was barely around? Well, that was Annie, and she was the textbook definition of “standoffish”. Don’t be fooled by her, though - she could take down thieves twice her size with one sweep of her leg.)

I sighed deeply. I really didn't want to debate like this with Marlowe. I still had residual annoyance from Eren coursing through me and my patience was draining fast. “Look, it sucks - the history and all, but where else am I going to get rent that cheap? Let alone rent for an _entire house?_ God, Marlowe - I bet your apartment costs more.”

“Maybe so, but you get what you pay for.” He chimed back with a dumb grin.

I shook my head. _Breathe, Jean. Just breathe._ “Well, I’ve been there at least five times already and it seems like a perfectly old, creaky-ass house to me.”

“But you said tonight’s your first time staying _overnight?_ ”

“Yeah, _and?_ ”

“Just saying.”

“Y’know, why don’t you just say nothing instead?” I finally snapped, shifting my attention back to the dumb little pink weights as Marlowe caught the attention of the only customer in the store. RIP Marlowe, it nice knowing you. Not really.

I shook my head. He had never seriously aggravated me before - that was usually Eren’s speciality - but I’d had enough at this point. I was moving into a big house, on my own, in my early 20s, when more than half of my damn coworkers still lived with their parents or were living together as roommates in dinky-ass studios. But instead of respect and admiration, I was being made fun of. I was being given salt and sage by my crush instead of notes and gifts returning my undying love. It just wasn’t fair. All I wanted was a little more “wow”s and less “ooo”s. I could bet my entire paycheck that if it were Eren moving into the house, the responses would've been completely different. I felt my fists ball up at the thought.

“They're jealous,” I reassured myself as I hauled the overstock to the backroom, “Only dumbasses believe in ghosts.”

Suddenly, the house was no longer about freedom - it was about proving everybody wrong. The sooner I could clock out, go there, sleep soundly, and return back to work tomorrow with zero paranormal activity to report, the better.

I barely said anything for the rest of the night and tried not to let everyone fighting over the chance to go to lunch with Eren shred my last nerve.

* * *

The house, despite its town-wide reputation, was really beautiful. If it weren’t for the history, it probably would’ve been worth millions. The last of its kind in the neighborhood, it stuck out like a sore-thumb amidst some of the newer models on the street, and the more times I visited it, the more I began to feel sorry for it. Weird to say this, but it was kinda like me - the odd man out.

The trees around the house were strong and tall, almost as old as the house itself. I could smell the old wood as soon as I stepped inside to see an intricately-detailed staircase. There was small living room to left, with a guest bedroom nestled in a hall behind it, and a kitchen and dining area towards the right. Upstairs, there were the three other bedrooms, including the master which was like a house in itself to me after living in a room about as big as my mattress for a good chunk of my life. In the hallway near the master, there was an access door in the ceiling to the attic, but I doubted I'd ever use it for anything. I already had way more space than anyone my age could ever need. The house was, in a lot of ways, overwhelming.

I kicked the front door closed behind me, both of my hands full with two, bulky boxes. The last of my stuff - _finally_ . I never knew how much crap I really had until I started having to go through all of it. I felt like I'd done okay getting rid of most of it, but I'd still wound up with a good thirty or so boxes of stuff somehow. I’m pretty sure a good chunk of those boxes was actually stuff my mom had put together for me. Stuff that I had very clearly _not_ asked for. But that was my mom. She was the type who’d never stop treating me like a little kid no matter how many times I asked her to stop. And honestly, I think the whole leaving-the-nest thing had made it worse for her.

As I set the last of the boxes down, I took time to lay upon the floor beside them and take in a deep breath.

_I did it._

Despite everything, I was officially independent as of this moment... and not a second into my independence did my stomach make the loudest growl I'd ever heard it make in my life. Instantly, I sat up. Right... no mom around to make dinner anymore. I scratched the back of my head, feeling embarrassed despite being alone. I hadn't really thought about food, and all that was in the fridge were a few water bottles. Whatever, I’d just order in tonight - I deserved to treat myself.

While I waited on a pizza in a desk chair that I had dragged into the kitchen, I couldn’t help but notice one thing: silence. Utter silence.

The house was so… _quiet_. I wasn’t used to quiet. I was used to my mom always cleaning and making noise in the kitchen. I was used to a television always being on, even though we never watched it. The sound of the train going by on the tracks, just a couple of yards from my back window. The neighbor’s dumb dog barking at moths in the middle of the night.

At one point, silence was all I wanted. Now it was all I had. And I felt… cold.

I wanted to start unpacking, but I was too tired. It was more mentally than anything, but still. I think I’d wait until the weekend, because I knew that once I started, I wouldn’t want to stop until everything was set. So instead of being productive, I kept checking my phone, even though there weren’t any notifications for me. On Snapchat, it looked like Connie and everybody else had gone to a movie. I felt shitty for, yet again, not being invited, even though I most likely would’ve said no anyways. I put my phone face-down on the floor in front of me and crossed my arms.

What the hell was my deal? Why did I want to be included so badly - just to say I was? Did I really, genuinely want to be a part of the group? Or did I just want a thing to belong to? Did I want friends or did I just want to not be alone?

“I don’t even know what I want anymore...” I sighed aloud, to which a knock at the door immediately followed. I smirked, “Alright, fine. I guess I want pizza.”

I crossed the room to open the door, money already in hand, and where I expected a uniformed delivery driver to be standing, I found… nobody. No car, even. Wait, I could’ve sworn… _oh, oh no._

I immediately shut the door and turned to the empty house, to which I stared defiantly up the staircase into the darkness.

“You’ll have to do better than that.” I said, for some reason. I knew no one was there. I knew ghosts weren’t real. But I said it anyways, if only to relieve all of my frustrations. I couldn’t help it. It just came out.

And did anything ghostly suddenly appear at the top of the stairs?

No.

Was my challenge met with a sudden crash?

Not even a creak.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought - ”

The doorbell rang and I must’ve jumped thirty feet across the room. My heart went about fifty feet more.

“Fuck!”

I grit my teeth and opened the door, and God, the poor pizza guy… bad enough he had to deliver to “that” house - now he had my angry ass answering. He definitely seemed uncomfortable, so I let him keep the change.

The smell of a fresh pizza suddenly took over the smell of the wood, and I'd be a liar if I said that I didn't eat the entire thing and pass out on the kitchen floor.

* * *

When I arrived back at Titan’s the next day, I was met with a sudden round of applause from my coworkers gathered at the time-clock. I actually felt myself start to smile as I took in the warmth of everyone - including Eren of all people - clapping for me. They seemed so sincere, at least until Connie cried out “He lives!” dramatically, instantly cutting my sense of pride in two.

They weren’t applauding me on my first day in the new place, they were applauding that I had managed to spend the night in one of Paradis’s most haunted houses. I should’ve known. Assholes.

“Well, Jean? How was it? Anything weird happen?” Marlowe started up, to which I grit my teeth, half-tempted to walk right back out to my car and never come back.

“Did you see... or _hear_ anything?” Came another question, this time from Armin, only adding to my disappointment.

“Or smell anything?” Piped in Sasha.

I was certain if I grit my teeth any harder, they would break. Then, from out of nowhere, came the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard…

“Stop it, everyone.”

Mikasa.

I looked to her, surprised. She was _defending_ me. In front of everyone. Just when I thought I had given up on her, _she_ came back to _me_. I could honestly feel my heart swelling; this was the moment I’d tell our children about, I was sure of it -

“Spirits shouldn’t be joked about,” Mikasa explained softly, and almost everyone seemed to trail off. Well... almost everyone.

“Yeah, why not?”

_Fucking Eren._

“Because when they’re disturbed, they can turn into _onryō_.” Mikasa revealed, to a very cynical and unimpressed Eren.

“Onryō?” Eren repeated for me, seemingly on the same wavelength as myself.

“Vengeful spirits.” Armin explained, “ _Poltergeists_.”

I could only shake my head as everybody looked to Armin, fascinated as he went on to explain the different types of ghosts. Oh boy, there were types now! I think it was one of the only instances I was ever upset with Armin and definitely one of the only instances that Eren and myself shared the same look of utter annoyance on our faces.

When the campfire story was finally finished, I was more-than-happy to tell them that nothing in the slightest had happened the other night. Regardless, they kept poking and prodding me all day about _anything_ that may have seemed off. Well, I was too smart to tell them about simply mishearing a knock at the door, so I basically just repeated that I had eaten an entire pizza about ten different times. It wasn’t so bad to admit it in front of Sasha, who was capable of eating three pizzas to herself, but in Mikasa’s presence I just felt like a grease goblin with no self-control.

Even so, I guess it was nice that Mikasa was actually listening to me a little. And looking at me. I hadn’t realized it at first, but as the day went on, I kept catching her sight and… I had to be imagining it. I was twenty-three. I couldn’t be the victim of teenage hormones anymore. Crushes were for school kids. I was an adult, I -

“Jean?”

Before I could even turn around, my face flushed. No mistaking Mikasa’s quiet voice. She had found me in the back room, unusually far from her mandatory post in the front of the store. She had sought me out...?

“Y-Yeah?”

She didn’t return my look, which was odd for her. She usually only looked down when she was talking to Eren - oh… my… God…

“I know you don't seem to believe in spirits, and I know it annoys you when the others ask…” She started, and I felt my expression shift. Where was this going? Probably not where I was hoping...

Mikasa then reached for my hand and I froze up from head-to-toe. She gently brought it up, looking down still as if she were examining something on it, before suddenly meeting my gaze. I could only imagine I was as red as our dumb _Titan’s_ vests.

“But I wanted you to know… that if you ever encounter something there, and you need help, let me know. I can purify the house for you… and I won’t tell the others.”

If it wasn’t Mikasa Ackerman holding my hand and telling me this, I probably would’ve starting throwing things. Instead, I sighed as calmly as I could and simply thanked her, and as she walked away from me, I found myself, again, wishing I had never said a word about moving out.


	3. August

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A breaking point.

July came and went in a big blur, just like the rest of the year.

If the trend continued, it’d be Christmas in no time, and like any retail associate in America, I shuddered at the thought of Black Friday. It wasn’t just me feeling the rush, though. Seemed like everyone I talked to was perpetual disbelief of whatever date was on the calendar. Whether it was March, June, or now, August, the year was “flying by”... I guess I was just relieved it wasn’t a symptom of getting older.

During big summer blur, I had fully settled into the house.

When I had first started boxing up my things in June, I remembered thinking that I had too much stuff, but after unpacking all of it into a four bedroom, I really felt like I had nothing at all. I’d really become thankful for the random things my mom had put together for me, like a trash can, a flashlight, and scissors: the kind of stuff you don’t think about when moving out for the first time. She’d come to visit a few times in July, but never stayed very long, and always winded up tearing up just before leaving. Guess it was hard for her to accept that her adult son was, y’know, _adulting_. I don’t know. I loved her, I was grateful for her, but she always made me feel like I was five.

Come to think of it, a lot of people made me feel like I was five...

Despite having next-to-nothing paranormal happen in the house for a whole month, my coworkers still kept asking me on a daily basis. I was irritated, but I found it was a lot better to just ignore them after a while. Their persistence was pretty remarkable, however - Connie especially - but luckily, so was my own. Honestly, just when I felt I'd finally grown immune to the fact that perhaps as long as I lived in the stupid house (or at least worked at Titan’s) they’d never let me be, an incident happened with Annie that finally made me snap.

We never saw much of Annie as she was usually locked away in the camera room doing security stuff. Whenever she did come out, it was only for lunch or to go home. She never greeted anybody and her goodbyes were always the definition of brief - if at all. I usually kept my distance, because I felt like just _existing_ in her general vicinity seemed to annoy her, but she just happened to be at the timeclock one day when I was coming back from lunch. We met eyes, but like usual, didn’t say anything to each other.

Connie, Sasha, Eren, and Ymir were all congregated by the cashiers, talking about yet another movie I hadn’t been invited to (I'm petty, okay?), when they caught sight of us and for whatever reason, Connie was inspired.

“Hey Annie, did you know Jean’s been living in the Trost Street house?” Connie called out to her, making some of the others chuckle and look towards us with peaked interest.

I knew something was wrong as soon as Annie paused and looked straight towards me, and not Connie. Her eyes were so unbelievably cold, and not just because of their color. Just as I began to feel hollow under her gaze, she looked back to Connie.

“And?” Was all she asked.

Connie, sensing the same uncomfortable feeling that I had felt, stopped smiling and suddenly looked nervous.

“And… well, yeah…” He stuttered, looking between us, “That’s all… right, Jean?” _(_ _Oh, don’t lump me into this, Springer!)_

“Uh, yeah?” I answered, giving him a mild glare that I hoped Annie would catch.

Annie turned to the exit, but just before her hand grasped the crash bar, she looked over her shoulder towards me. All I could see were her eyes, but instead of coldness, I saw... something else. Not tears. Not aggravation, but... _grief._ She left without saying anything else, leaving me with that image - that feeling - and when I turned to the others, everything that I had held back for a month finally burst out.

“Hey, Annie knew someone who died in that house. From what I know, they were close. I don’t think bringing it up is very polite, joking or not, and I’m especially uncomfortable that you brought it up in relation to me. I’ve let you tease me every day for the past month, but I think this is enough. You went too far, and you should apologize.”

Heh. Well, that’s what I _should’ve_ said, but instead it came out like -

“Fuck you guys.”

Their faces went from shocked to angry within seconds for all sorts of reasons. I think Ymir was actually delighted, but at the same time somewhat upset I had used that kind of language in front of Krista. Connie and Sasha couldn’t believe I had said what I had said, and honestly, neither could I. Eren looked to be some mix of concerned, yet offended, and Mikasa - well, I couldn’t bring myself to look at her. I was sure any chance I ever had with her was now, definitely, gone.

I think my brain went on autopilot afterwards. The rest of the shift was nothing but anxiety and awkwardness, and I wound up leaving early just to avoid everybody. On the way home, my phone buzzed a few times but I didn’t want to look at the messages. In fact, as soon as I parked, I turned it off and left in the glove box. My nerves were shot and the entire thing felt like a nightmare playing out. I felt sick to my stomach with regret, but at the same time… entirely justified. They had gone too far. They needed to _know_ they had gone too far. Maybe once the initial fallout blew over, they’d understand why I said what I had said. Maybe they’d actually apologize before I did. Or maybe this was all a pipe dream and I had just ruined whatever half-ass friendship I’d had with everyone… there hadn’t really been much there to begin with...

It took me a while to realize I was still parked outside of the house. I felt conflicted when I went inside. This house. This was the entire reason for this mess. I dropped my bags at the foot of the stairs, suddenly longing for my bed. Longing for sleep. Longing to go willingly unconscious so the memories of my monumental screw up of the day would finally stop replaying in my head...

As I neared the top of the stairs, I began to feel cold again. A draft. What an awful little house. I smiled sadly; Marlowe had been right - I really had got what I had paid for.

 

* * *

 

An entire week passed and I hadn’t spoken to anybody at Titan’s since my outburst, other than customers and only because I had to. When it came to my coworkers, managers included, I didn’t really look at them. I didn’t even look at Mikasa. I just couldn’t. After the first few days, I began to stop caring about how awkward it was because I found that at least everyone was finally leaving me alone. It was actually… refreshing. I guess this was why I was so surprised when someone suddenly started talking to me on my lunch break one day.

“Can I ask you something?”

It was Annie. I nearly choked; she’d came out of nowhere, and I had just stuffed my face with a microwave meal I’d gotten from the discount store next door. Probably looked really attractive. Oh well, Annie was security - she’d probably seen everybody at their worst by now.

“Sure...?” I found myself saying as I offered her a chair next to me. She refused, opting to stand near the door with her arms crossed instead, as if playing look-out for any eavesdroppers. Smart.

“Everyone says you haven’t experienced anything weird in that house. I wanted to ask you if that’s really true…”

“Why?” I countered, without thinking. I couldn’t help but be defensive.

Annie, for a split-second, seemed surprised by my tone, but continued on. “You’ll have to excuse me for being vague, but it’s personal. I just want the truth and I want it from you.”

I sighed and pushed my pathetic microwave meal aside. Just when somebody finally started talking to me again, even Annie of all people, it was about the house. It wasn’t about me. It wasn’t about how I was doing. It was about the _damn house_...

“Look. It’s true, alright? No weird happenings. No ghosts. Nothing.”

Annie didn’t respond right away, her eyes trained on the floor, her mind on some memory that I’d never see. Just as she turned to walk away, I felt myself speaking.

“It’s about him, isn’t it?”

Annie stopped and I wondered why the hell I said anything else. I guess it just felt good to finally talk to somebody, even if it was on a topic I completely despised...

“You know about him?”

“Well, everybody does… I mean, Marlowe told me a little bit…”

“How much did he tell you?”

“Not a lot, just… the guy was a family friend or yours. He used to watch you, like a babysitter. They… found him in the house one day. Foul play, but no suspects. So now everyone says the house is cursed.”

“So that’s what everyone believes…” Annie mused softly, her eyes gazing towards the floor.

“Is that… not what happened?”

Annie glared at me, but didn’t answer, instead saying, “I just wanted to see if he had moved on.”

Even though I was still kinda aggravated, I could understand her wanting some peace. I relaxed my shoulders a little. This was different than the teasing I’d endured over the last four weeks - this was just someone dealing with a decade-old grief.

“Look, I think it’s important for me to tell you that I don’t believe in stuff like that. Alright? I just don’t. When I hear a noise or feel a draft, I don’t peg it on ghosts or… whatever. There’s nothing that’s happened in the house that’s been... beyond it just being an old, crappy house. At least to me. Maybe to other people, it’s different. Maybe they read into things that I don’t. So I can’t tell you if… this person you knew... is there, or not there. I don’t think it’s up to me to decide that… and I’m sorry they told you about it in the first place.” I kept going on an on. I couldn’t help it. Things had been bottled up for too long. “Honestly, I wish I never would’ve signed the lease.”

“Why’s that?” Annie asked, looking towards me.

I shrugged my shoulders. “Because… it’s been nothing but a shitshow here since I moved in. Now I’m not even talking to anybody.”

“I heard.”

“Yeah, I bet you did.” I crossed my arms and I was finally the one to look away instead of Annie.

“Not for nothing, Jean, but maybe the others think you’re more upset with them than they are with you...”

I felt myself chuckle. Was Annie... comforting me? This in itself was more unbelievable than ghost stories. “And this is just your speculation?”

“Well, I am the eye in the sky around here… I’d like to say I’d have a good idea about what goes on, but then again I usually try to stay out of all the drama. Most of the time I wonder if this place is just an extension of high school.”

“Exactly, thank you... Hell, any openings in your department?”

“No offense, but you’re the last person I’d hire.”

“Good thing I was only joking.”

I could’ve sworn Annie almost, almost smiled, before turning to walk away.

 

* * *

 

When I got back home that night, the house was pitch-black and ice-cold, like usual. It was always chilly in the house, no matter how many times I adjusted the thermostat. During the peak of summer when I had first moved in, it hadn’t been as noticeable, but as the temperatures began to settle down outside it was becoming more of an issue. I really just needed to call my landlord about it, but kept spacing it.

I turned on all the lights downstairs, unable to shake the image of Annie out of my head.

I didn’t know what it was like to lose somebody I knew.

I mean, my dad came pretty close: took off to Florida with some lady he’d met in a bar when I was seven and never even said goodbye, leaving my poor mom behind to spoil me rotten instead.

Still, my dad wasn’t _dead_. Just dead-beat.

After he ditched us, we’d lost our house and had resigned to one bedroom with a den. It had meant to be a temporary thing, but I think the whole ordeal took so much out of my mom that she just ended up settling for it, unable to see the point in getting another house or a bigger apartment. Child support lawyers had lost track of my dad, and after some time it was like she just gave up.

The apartment hadn’t been too bad the first few years, but the older I got, the smaller the den seemed, and my social life took a nosedive because I couldn’t bring myself to invite anyone over anymore. I was too embarrassed. I wish I could say I never told my mom these things. I wish I could say we hadn’t fought about it, or fought about my dad, but it just wasn’t so. And even though we always found a way to make up to each other by the end of the day, I could never get past the hatred I had for my father. It always came out and more often than not, my mom was the goalie, blocking all my shots.

Most nights, I wished he was dead, which I know isn’t very nice to wish on other people, no matter what their crime is, but death itself was a fairy tale to me. It was something that happened, just never to me. In a way, I guess it was a good problem to have, but still...

Suddenly, a shiver struck my arms and legs. I knew the house could be drafty, but this felt so… no, come to think of it, it was probably just from sitting for too long. I had a knack for getting cold easily, too. I got up and adjusted the thermostat again, but after a half hour, no matter how many times I turned it up, I only felt colder. Piece of crap. I was definitely calling the landlord first thing in the morning. I’d had enough.

I crossed my arms tightly over my chest. I was surprised I couldn’t see my own breath at this point - it was _that_ fucking cold. I drew in a breath, trying to think beyond what I was feeling. Maybe I could open up the windows instead? Anything was warmer than inside at this point. I crossed the living room and parted the curtains, looking for the window latch, but before I found it, my heart seized up.

For only a second, I could have sworn to have seen another face beside my own in the reflection of the window.

I spun around to find nothing there, but my heart was left to pound hard within my chest - so hard that I actually thought it might break my ribs. I swallowed hard, the temperature momentarily forgotten. And once a minute or so passed and I began to calm down, I suddenly felt _angry_.

“That's all you got?” I felt myself say, not really sure why. I just...

At my words, a noise invaded the silence of the living room. Nothing loud, but just enough for me to notice. It seemed to be coming from the kitchen. I could feel residual adrenaline wreaking havoc in my chest as I slowly made my way over.

Why was the house suddenly doing this  _now?_

From the entryway, I could see the source of the noise: water was dripping onto the floor from the ceiling, which had developed a small, bulging ring. Something upstairs was leaking…

“Oh, what the hell…” I whispered to myself, backing away from the kitchen to look towards the stairs.

There was a bathroom that was just above the kitchen. I’d have to go upstairs and check, but between the sudden coldness, the _thing_ in the window, and now this... I suddenly couldn’t move. Every story, joke, and jab about the house was now rushing a hundred miles an hour through my head.

_“‘Course I believe it - it happened.”_

_“You can ask Annie. Saw the whole thing. Even knew the family.”_

_“Poltergeists.”_

_“Spirits shouldn’t be joked about.”_

_“I just wanted to see if he had moved on…”_

I clutched my head. I had been so determined to prove everyone wrong. I had been so adamant about the house being okay, because I _needed_ it to be okay. I had been so… so sure that ghosts were not real…

My fists balled up.

No, _screw this_. I was not going to fold now. The house was a million years old. Refurbished or not, old houses always had weird issues, and cold drafts and bad plumbing were like in the top three of those issues. Beautiful logic finally took over and guided me to the staircase, and I stared defiantly up into the darkness of the second floor and tried not to think about what I had imagined in the window. I tried not to think about Annie’s question, Mikasa’s odd offer to purify the house, and everyone else’s laughter. Ironically, I thought about Eren’s criticism, instead. He had remained as unconvinced as I was. If Eren were here, he’d walk right up those stairs and probably punch whatever ghost was up there. The imagery made me smirk, and despite feeling a bit disappointed in myself for using Eren as inspiration, any fear I had started developing was pretty much gone.

When I came upon the bathroom, I could hear the faucet running. I turned on the lights, and sure enough, the hand sink was overflowing. The entire floor was flooded, I realized, as my socks became soaked. I wasn’t so much concerned as I was pissed off; I absolutely hated having wet socks. Sighing, I just unplugged the sink and turned the faucet off. Once the water drained, I could see the stopper of the sink was very loose, which explained how it had come down, but there was nothing I could immediately reason for the faucet being on full blast.

I grabbed every towel I owned to cover the floor and took off my socks and tossed them aside. I shook my head, thinking about what everybody would say if they knew this was how my night was currently going. It was mostly a chorus of “I told you so’s” and from that alone, I knew I wasn’t going to say a word about this. I couldn’t...

“Look, I don’t believe in you, okay?” I was talking aloud again, “So why don’t you save yourself the trouble of haunting me? Because I’m not buying it.”

I don’t know why I kept feeling the need to address something that wasn’t there. I don’t know why I was telling the thing I didn’t believe in that I didn’t believe in it. Maybe it was to satisfy the 0.1% of me that had a doubt that someone other than me was hanging around. Maybe it was because living alone for the first time ever was as rewarding as it was downright lonely and sometimes I needed to talk, if only to myself. Maybe I was just playing the part, despite having a group of red vest-wearing “friends” to prove wrong…

Maybe... I should have been more careful.

I wasn’t even halfway down the stairs when I heard the water start running again. I froze and looked back up towards the bathroom, an unsettling feeling falling over me.

“Damn it.”

I crept back up to the bathroom, much more slowly. Sure enough, the sink was filling up again. Frustrated, I shut it off and stood there for a few moments, silently daring it to turn on again. When it didn’t, I left for the stairs again and, well, you guessed it: it turned on again.

“Piece of shit - stop it!”

I paused in the bathroom doorway. Was I seriously yelling at a _sink_ _?_ I laughed nervously, all-too-aware of how hard my heart was beating. I think a part of me knew that something more was going on. I could feel it in the goosebumps rising all over my skin and the sheer cold feeling that seemed to be pinpointed on the back of my neck. Still, I reached out, and turned off the faucet one more time, and kept my hands fixed on the handles.

“It’s okay,” I said to myself, over and over. “It’s okay.”

I don’t know how long I stood like that. It was a while before I started to calm down and the cold feeling went away and I finally came up with the courage to let go. When nothing happened, I felt a faint wave of relief, but I wasn’t completely satisfied. Something still felt off, but I was too exhausted to commit to it any longer. I just wanted to sleep - I wanted to cease from thinking about everything for a while. I wanted to stop thinking about the sink, the window. I wanted to stop seeing the broken faces of Connie, Sasha, and everyone else after I had lashed out at them. I wanted to stop avoiding them, and I wanted them to stop avoiding me. I wanted to apologize, I…

I was crying.

Downstairs, in the middle of the empty, furniture-less living room, I clutched my face. This sucked. This was embarrassing, but... I was really alone now, wasn’t I? I could cry all night and nobody would ever know. I didn’t have to hold back. I didn’t have to hide it. God, I hated being a man sometimes. I hated being a man in moments like this when all I wanted to do was cry and I couldn’t. Crying meant weakness. Crying meant I was that five year old that everybody thought I was. Even alone, I just… _couldn’t_.

I could sleep, though. Maybe. Somehow. I’d figure it out. I always figured it out. I had to. Dad never did, so I had to.

I was in deep with my thoughts, now. Far deeper than I’d wanted to go. It was like a spiral I couldn’t get out of. I could feel myself getting cold again but like the cold, I didn’t care. It was numbing. I liked feeling numb. I liked feeling nothing. There was no winning this, tonight. Not until I was out like a light. So let it. Let it be freezing. Let the sink run, and the water to leak. I’d stand there all night. It didn’t matter, it -

The lights flickered.

I thought I’d imagined it for a second until they did it again, first slowly, then quickly. I was too paralyzed to think or move. I could only watch them struggle to stay on. Whatever shred of logic was left in me began to worry about a power surge, but I was too rooted down to act. I just… watched. I watched them go off and on until they shattered and I was thrust into darkness.

My heart kicked back up again. Suddenly, I was aware that the ice-cold feeling enveloping me wasn’t my own numbness, but something outside of myself. As I began to come back to my senses, I saw something - something darker than the darkness surrounding it - forming in the corner of the living room where the lamp had broken. I felt my lip trembling. I knew the front door was just behind me, but I couldn’t move. I was broken. Logic was a distant voice screaming on the other side of a heavy door that I could no longer open.

The form began to take a larger, almost human-like shape, and I began to see my own breath. This thing... this thing was sinister. Every ounce of instinct in me knew I was staring at a manifestation of evil. As it appeared to come towards me, still in shock, I wondered something else... _was I going to die?_

_“Leave him alone.”_

That was the first time I saw him. He'd appeared between me and the shadow within a blink of an eye. His back was to me, and his arms were spread out. The entity halted, then hissed and began to expand. Still, he held his ground...

_“I said leave him alone!”_

I could only watch as he demanded whatever was on the other side of him to back down. Just barely, I could see through him just enough to make out a large shadow gradually start vanishing, and once it appeared to be gone, he finally turned to me.

The ghost turned and looked at me.

I’ll never forget how sad his eyes looked, just before he faded from my sight.

_“I’m so sorry.”_

I could’ve sworn I heard him say something, but it sounded more like... wind.

 

* * *

 

It took me a long time to move up from the floor. Once I finally did, I just felt robotic as walked to the kitchen to seek out a flashlight (thanks, Mom). The lights downstairs were a lost cause and had completely blown out, adding a shattered mess all over the wet floor. This, and the sweat covering my body, were the only signs that what I had just seen had all been... _real_.

 _Ghosts_ were _real_.

Every story about this house was _real_.

Nauseated from the panic, yet still feeling like I was in a trance, I went outside to my car with only my cell phone and car keys in hand. A wave of text messages I had been ignoring flooded the screen but I blindly swiped them all away and pulled up my mom’s number. Just before I hit call, though, I stopped. If I told my mom about what had just happened, she’d force me to move back in with her, and I’d be an even bigger laughing stock to everyone at work. She couldn’t know about this. Shit, _n_ _obody_  could know about this...

Almost absentmindedly, I finally checked my messages. There were a few from my coworkers.

 _"Jean, you seriously need to..."_ was the start of a message from Armin from three days ago.

 _"I saved you some coupons. Let..."_ was part of one from my mom, from about four days ago.

 _"Did you really go off on..."_ came Marlowe's text, five days ago.

 _"I can't believe you. :("_ was another from Sasha, six days ago.

 _"don't talk to me ever again"_ was one from Connie, from a week ago.

I sighed. The last one hit me harder than it should have. I wanted to text him "likewise" but instead, I was drawn to Armin's message instead.

_"Jean, you seriously need to apologize to everybody already. Ignoring it isn't going to make it go away. I'm here if you want to talk about it."_

Ignoring it isn't going to make it go away...

I looked back to the house with a conflicted heart. I had never been so absolutely numb, pissed off, and sad all at once. I didn't really know what to feel or how to feel. I stayed in the car the rest of the night, exhausted, but unable to sleep. I couldn’t stop thinking about it all, my thoughts particularly caught on the vision of the spirit who had seemingly protected me. The ghost, with eyes so bravely determined, yet somehow still afraid...

There was no question in my mind it was the guy from ten years ago, the one Annie had known and had asked me about. I had never seen his picture, but he looked to be about the right age from some of the work gossip I hadn’t ignored... what had his name been, again...? Was I really wondering this right now? Or was I just dreaming?

I felt my face fall into my hands. For the first time ever, I had no explanations. I had no defense. No comeback. No plan. Because I now knew two things were true: ghosts were real, and I was dealing with more than one of them.


	4. August, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I'm Jean, and I kinda suck at being haunted.

I called off from work the next day, having finally willed myself to go back into the house around seven in the morning. I had been relieved when Hange answered; they were _the_ manager you wanted to get a hold of when calling out because they never gave you any crap about it, unlike Levi. Hange just said to feel better - I mean, unless you called out all the time, then Hange shifted into something that made Levi look like the equivalent of Mickey Mouse. Good thing this was my first call-out all year.

It was a Wednesday, technically my Friday: I had three whole days to figure out what I was going to do, and so far the best decision I had come up with was to leave town.

I kept the front door unlocked, just in case I’d have to run for my life or something, if I even _could_ run . I was so desperately tired - tired to the point that my eyes were sore from merely being open, but I was still too nervous to even think about going to my bed. I thought about going to mom’s, if only to sleep, but immediately shook my head. No. I _couldn’t_. She couldn't know.

After a lot of hesitation in the doorway, I eventually found myself sitting in the kitchen, nauseated, but unable to will myself to eat, either. I doubled over and held my head, remembering a computer game Sasha liked to play, _The Sims_ , where you took care of little virtual people. If you did good, they were green and happy, but if you did a bad job, their status would start changing into a bright red color and they’d start refusing even the most simple of tasks. Sasha was really good at keeping her people happy, whereas Connie was kinda devious and would lock everybody in a room, delete the door, and slowly wait for them to die of starvation - Sasha’d get really mad at him, too. I almost felt myself smile before I remembered that was back in high school, when we all had had something that actually resembled a friendship...

If I were a Sim, I’d be all red.

Was there even the _slightest_ possibility I had imagined everything last night? The fact I couldn’t even think this confidently was proof otherwise; that, and the blown out lights and towels all over the upstairs bathroom. I held my head in my hands. I didn’t want to be here right now. Shit, I didn’t want to be in Paradis right now. I wanted to be somewhere else. I wanted to be somewhere that actually mattered - New York, Los Angeles - any place somebody had actually heard of before. Anywhere but _here_...

I looked up and took in the morning sun peeking through the windows of the kitchen. Faintly, I could make out particles of dust gently rising and falling within the streams of light, and for a while, I just watched them, my thoughts traveling to the places that I couldn’t. I thought about myself in big cities. I thought about new friends in those big cities. I thought about old friends in small ones. I thought about my mother, and then I thought about my dad. I thought about how I would never, _ever_ go to Florida. I thought about myself in another country, instead. I just kept thinking and thinking… and then I saw a sudden disturbance within the streams of dust.

It was just for a second, but I could’ve sworn I had just seen someone standing there.

Maybe I _had_. But now there was nothing. I felt as shaky as I was heavy; a good part of me knew it was all real, but what was I supposed to do? Who could I talk to? Where the hell could I go? I just wanted to _understand_. Why was this happening? Why now, and not before? Or had this been happening all along and I was too arrogant to see it? Why did my jackass coworkers have to be _right?_

I looked down to my phone and begrudgingly decided to do something I had swore I wouldn’t do: research the house.

Basically, my knowledge about the house had never gone beyond what the landlord had disclosed to me and what my coworkers had brought up. I had been so… adamant about none of it being real that I refused to look anything else up. It wasn’t so much because I’d start believing it and creep myself out, but more along the lines of ‘Why bother?’ The house was fine.

' _Was_ fine ...'  I thought, rolling my eyes.  As I started to type in the address, 163 Trost Street, my screen froze. I gave it a few seconds, and out of nowhere, the search bar cleared itself out. Perplexed, I tried again, but then it began flashing, and the text _glitched_ and... _changed_ …

**S̴ ̵t̷ ̸O̸ ̷p̵**

I felt my breath catch and I looked back towards the window, where I had thought I’d seen the figure. Then I looked to the living room, where everything had happened last night. Was this _them_ doing this…? The ghosts? When I looked back to my phone screen, the text had changed again. My heart nearly stopped.

**N̵ ̶o̴ ̵t̶ ̶H̷ ̴E̷ ̶r̴ ̷e̸**

“Not… here?” As I tried to think what it meant, the text was changing again - right before my eyes.

**d̶ ̵o̶ ̴n̶t̸ ̸S̴ ̸A̴ ̵Y̶ ̵t̴ ̶h̶e̷i̶R̵ ̶N̵ ̴A̴ ̶M̸ ̷E̸ ̷S̷**

At that, my phone vibrated unusually and the screen flashed and went dark before I dropped it into my lap. I snatched it back up, but no amount of hitting the power button seemed to revive it. It was totally dead.

_Don’t say their names._

_Not here._

_Somewhere else, then…?_

_Research somewhere else._

I don’t know _how_ I knew, but without another second’s pause, I grabbed my phone and my keys and headed back outside to my car - I’d be lying if I said I didn’t run.

 

* * *

 

Paradis’s one and only library wasn’t too far from my mom’s place. It sat on a narrow corner on Main Street, adjacent to the town hall. When I was younger, before the onset of pocket computers and puberty, it had been my favorite place in the world. As I pulled up to it, I realized it had probably been years since my last visit. No doubt my card was expired by now...

When I walked inside, the first thing I smelled was the wood. It was different than the Trost House; richer and stronger. Older. When I pushed through a second set of doors, I saw and smelled the books. Shelves and shelves of them, organized into some ancient decimal system that barely made sense when I was a kid and probably didn’t make any more sense now.

I paused before the aisles, noting just how vacant it was and also how much _smaller_ it seemed from when I had been a kid. It didn't even seem like the same building in some places. The tables and shelves were a giveaway to the past, but a few computers had taken over where snippy librarians used to perch.

The only librarian I could see around was Erwin Smith - veteran and resident teen-heart throb of Paradis. He could be an intimidating man sometimes; other than his height, you could never really tell what he was thinking about. His eyes were intense, but they hardly revealed anything. When he had returned from overseas without an arm, he was declared a hometown hero, his eyes never changed like some peoples' do. I’m pretty sure he’d acquired a Purple Heart for his inconvenience, but you’d never know it from him. He didn’t brag about things like that. He didn’t brag at all. He just maintained the library, like his father before him...

I didn’t get a chance to sneak past him before he realized I was there, but then again - I was probably the only person at the library at eight in the morning on a Wednesday...

“Kirstein.”

“Hello, sir.” I greeted sheepishly, my mind still heavy with why I had came to the library in the first place.

I think Erwin could tell just as well as I could how unusual it was for me to be there, but he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he asked me something worse: “Finals?”

I felt my teeth clench and I rubbed the back of my head. This had just gone next-level awkward. Small town or not, I guess Erwin hadn’t heard about me dropping out of college a couple years ago. “I, uh… something like that, yeah.”

“What’s the subject?”

Erwin’s father had been a teacher, so it was only natural for Erwin to emulate him from time to time. I don't think he did it intentionally. He just liked knowledge, I guess.

“Uh… history. Town history. Our town’s history.” I babbled vaguely as Erwin gave me a quick once-over.

“Anything specific, or just Paradis in general?”

My thoughts flashed to the house. Should I ask him about the house? Or try my luck at finding it myself?

“J-Just in general. Anything you have. Books. Newspaper articles.” I shrugged and Erwin just nodded, as if able to see I was withholding from him, but like before, he didn’t say anything about it.

Erwin led me to a shelf that I never would have found if my life depended on it, and showed me the very few books that we had dedicated to Paradis. It was kind of sad to see just how few there actually were. Unsatisfied, he directed me to where they kept all the old newspaper articles on microfilm. They were all in small boxes inside filing cabinets, all dated accordingly.

“We haven’t quite gotten around to digitizing all of them yet. You’ll have to go old school with these. The reader’s in the back, on the right. The last I checked, it still works.”

“Thank you, sir.” I said, and he finally strode away, leaving me to wonder how the local chicks dug somebody that foreboding.

 

* * *

 

Before I even bothered rooting through the filing cabinets, I tried checking my phone, but it was still dead. It was weird. Normally, I’d feel anxious over being disconnected like this, but in light of everything, it was kind of nice to be off the grid. No phone filled with angry text messages from friends. No alarms for work. No social media scroll-traps. No… nothing. Today had become _mine_ , just like that.

So, with the phone as good as a paperweight, I started sifting through the cabinets until I could find articles dated around ten years prior, but I hit a wall when I realized that an entire drawer was dedicated to 2008 and I had no clue which month or day that the incident had even taken place. I sure as hell wasn’t going to drive over to Titan’s and ask Annie, either - even if I hadn’t of called off, it was out of the question to bring it up with her at all. Unlike Connie, I had some class.

My hands hesitated over the first of January for a minute. Was I really going to check _every_ _single_ one of these? I was honestly better off getting a new phone. As I fought with myself over what the hell I was even doing, I heard a small voice from behind me.

“Jean?”

I turned to find Armin, of all people. I quickly closed the filing cabinet with my back and offered him a cheesy grin. I was smooth like that.

“Armin! Hey! What, uh… brings you here?”

“Studying…?” He answered me as if I knew he studied at the library all the time, “You?”

I stepped away from the filing cabinets before his eyes could travel towards them, but knowing Armin, he was already analyzing why Jean Kirstein was rooting through the library’s microfilm cabinets...

“Oh, y’know… just killing some time. Was in the area.” I inwardly cringed as I spoke - I was a shit liar, and both myself and Armin knew it.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at work?” His tone was entirely too serious and I nearly rolled my eyes.

“I think Yeager's rubbing off on you.”

Armin’s face flushed and he looked down quickly, making me feel like a jerk all over again. “N-No, I… I’m sorry, I just thought you worked today.”

“I do! I just… I’m ‘sick’.” I told him bluntly, finger-quotes and everything.

Redemption - Armin finally smiled a little. “So you called out to… come to the library?”

“If you tell anyone, I _swear_ …”

Armin laughed and waved me off. “I wouldn’t do that, Jean. Besides, I don’t think they’d believe me anyway.”

“True.” I agreed, mirroring him. It felt a little good to smile again. It felt good to just… talk to someone.

Armin adjusted the books in his grip and once again, his eyes focused towards my feet and not my face. “I’m happy to see you’re alright. You… haven’t been yourself lately. E-Everything okay with you?”

When his gaze met mine, there was a certain kind of sincerity that I’d never seen from anyone else. Out of nowhere, I suddenly felt like I could trust him. Then I remembered that I _could_ trust him.

“Actually… do you have a sec?”

Without hesitation, he nodded and led me to a table near a window, hidden away by some shelves. He set the books he had gathered down, which ranged from a couple different subjects, from government to public speaking.

“What's your major?” I winded up asking, still unsure of what I was about to tell him. Would I tell him about what I had seen? Or maybe keep it vague? Or just play like I was curious?

“Criminal justice.”

Impressed, but also a little jealous, I cupped my face in my hand and sighed. “That’s about right...”

“What do you mean? Was it obvious I wanted to be a lawyer?”

Seeing how upset he started to look, I smiled slightly. “No, it’s not like that - I think it’s right for you. Really, I think you’d be good at it. Hell, maybe one day you can bail me out of something.”

“ _Jean -_ ”

“I’m joking. About the bailing-me-out thing. Really. You’ll do great with this - I mean that.”

He thanked me and relaxed more, but his face stayed a little red. I pretended not to notice.

“So, what’s going on?” Armin finally asked.

I took a minute to speak. The real question was what _wasn’t_ going on...

“Um, so… remember the dumb house I moved into that everybody kept giving me a hard time over?”

Armin’s eyes widened before I directly answered; he just picked up on things like that. Hell, he’d be a lawyer to end all other lawyers.

“They were… right?”

“Ugh, did you have to phrase it that way?” I semi-joked before nodding, “But yeah… I’m starting to think they were.”

“So you… saw something, then? A ghost?”

“I... don’t know what I saw. But I guess if I had to describe it… ‘ghost’ would be closest.”

"What kind?"

 _Here we went with the types again..._ "Do I look like a ghostbuster, Armin? It didn't seem... evil, if that's what you mean. Well, at least the one didn't..."

"There was more than one?"

I just nodded. This was way more information than I had wanted to reveal...

“So, now you’re here… trying to find out more about the house and... who these ghosts might be?”

“You got it,” I said once more, adding, “Sorry, I don’t have a prize for you.”

Armin chuckled slightly, but his face remained concerned, “Jean, are you… really serious? You really saw apparitions?”

“I wouldn’t be sitting here with you if I hadn’t.”

“Okay, just be certain - are you  _positive_ you didn’t have a nightmare?” Armin asked the questions that my tattered logic failed to ask anymore.

“Pretty sure. Last night, I stayed in my car all night and when I finally went back inside, all the downstairs lights were still blown out…”

“Wait - blown out?”

“Yeah, they just... _did_. Uh, anyways, when I tried to Google some info about the place this morning, my phone short-circuited or something. Look - might as well be a brick.”

I slid my phone towards Armin, who visibly swallowed as he messed with it for a minute.

“You sure the battery didn’t - ”

“No, I’m sure. Screen was doing some _Ring_ shit before it went dead.”

“So, the stories really were true…” Armin confirmed quietly, handing my phone back. "I'd always read things about ghosts but I never really took them for fact..."

“Yeah, well apparently it's real, and I’m screwed if I don’t figure out what the hell I’m going to do.”

“Well, that's easy, Jean! Just move back out! Break the lease. I’m sure the landlord’s used to it.”

“I can’t do that, Armin.”

“Why?”

“Because I just _can’t_.”

“Because you don’t want everyone to be right? Is that it?”

I sighed and buried my head into my arms over the desk between us. “Just tell me I’m stupid, already. I’d get it.”

“You’re not stupid, Jean.” Armin said, “You’re _being_ stupid.”

“Look, part of it’s that - yes, of course I don’t want them to be right… can you blame me?” I started, “But even so, what I saw, Armin - I can’t just walk away from it. I’d question it the rest of my life. I want to know what I saw last night. I want to know _who_ I saw.”

“I… I can’t exactly disagree with wanting to understand things, but still, Jean… this is…” Armin trailed off.

“I _know_. I know. Can you help me or not?”

Armin thought for a moment, sighed, and then nodded.

 

* * *

 

Instead of bothering with the microfilm, Armin took his own cell phone and began searching through all of the articles that came up.

“There’s a good chance a lot of these are fake, so we’ll have to be careful about narrowing them down...” He told me, and I could only watch as the glow of his screen reflected off of his glasses as he scrolled.

“Just look for anything about a murder from ten years ago.” I directed him and I silently wondered why more of my “friends” couldn’t be like him.

I’d only known Armin for a short time through work. Unlike the rest of us, he had been home schooled from start-to-finish. I sort of wondered if I would’ve turned out different if I would’ve had someone like him around. Maybe I would’ve had better grades. Maybe I would’ve stayed in college. Maybe I would’ve had a dorm, instead of a haunted house. It was no wonder Eren held him so close.

“This one lists two deaths - one in 1953, and another in 1978, but strangely, nothing from 2008…”

“God, how many deaths have there been at this damn place?”

“Didn’t the landlord go over any of that with you?”

Exasperated, I sighed and shook my head. “I didn’t pay attention, Armin. I thought it was all a bunch of crap, remember?”

Armin gave me a small look and went back to scrolling. Another trait about Armin that I liked was he knew exactly when to let off of me. I kind of wanted to make him a friendship bracelet.

“Here’s something. ‘Infamous Trost house scene of another mysterious death…’”

“What’s the date?”

“November 1st, 2008…”

“Bingo. Anything popping up?” I encouraged, leaning over the table to try to see the screen.

“Hold on… _eldest son_ … _Bott family_ …” Armin murmured as he skimmed, “That’s weird… only a surname here.”

“Try searching for that, then?”

“Already on it…”

As Armin vigorously tapped away, I settled back into the chair across from him and glanced outside. As the morning developed, more and more traffic was starting to accumulate at the intersection of Main Street. People jogged in ugly yoga pants that I knew they got from Titan's, and others walked their dogs - if you could call those little ankle-biters dogs. Other groups were posting flyers for next month’s Harvest Festival on all of the street poles - other than the falling leaves, this was the true indication of autumn. As I watched, I knew only one thing: not a single one of the people outside were concerned with the paranormal. Only a few months ago, I was one of those people. I would’ve pinned anyone playing ghost detectives as stupid, so convinced everything had just been a dumb campfire story, and now here I was, a character in it.

So how would my story turn out?

“Jean?”

Armin’s voice brought my attention away from the window and back to the matter at hand.

“I think I found him,” Armin said cautiously, handing his phone towards me.

I was hardly prepared to see his name, let alone a photograph of him. As soon as I saw his eyes, I knew it was who I had seen last night.

**_Marco Bott._ **

He didn’t look sad.

That was my first thought. He was smiling brightly, countless freckles adorning his cheeks, as he stood outside on a familiar football field. _Our high school’s football field_ , I realized. He had on blue track pants, with the matching jacket tied up around his waist beneath a gray tank-top - the school colors. His red Converse shoes stood out on the strikingly green field, dating the picture sometime in the summer. The sky was uncommonly clear and blue. No one else was in the picture. Just him. Marco. My memory of him - his ghost - cast over what I was seeing and I felt my chest tighten.

**_“Monday, November 3rd, 2008._ **

**_Paradis, SD - Marco Bott, 23, pictured above, was found deceased in the basement of 163 Trost Street on November 1st, 2008. Authorities have suspected foul play and noted signs of a struggle. An autopsy over the weekend revealed Bott had been asphyxiated and had been dead for several days before being found by a neighbor during a welfare check. Bott’s family were away on holiday at the time._ **

**_The location of the incident has many Paradis locals buzzing, as the Trost house holds a dark reputation for several other deaths over the last sixty years. Authorities are asking for any witnesses to come forward._ **

**_“What makes this case more difficult is the death appears to have occurred right before or on Halloween, when a lot of people are dressed up or wearing masks, and walking around at night…” Officer Djel Sannes explained, “So far, we have no other leads, so we’re asking the public to come forward with anything - even if it may seem insignificant.”_ **

**_The family has declined any comments and has asked for privacy at this time.”_ **

After reading the article a few times, I looked back to his picture. I felt immensely sad and angry. How could someone murder someone so innocent-looking? I thought about Annie, and then I thought about Marco's family - his mother in particular, then I thought about mine. I must’ve been staring for a while as I felt Armin suddenly tap my arm. When I looked up, Armin’s eyes were brimming with worry.

“Is that who you saw, Jean?” Armin asked me gently, and I only nodded, taking one last look at Marco’s picture before returning the phone back to him.

Armin went quiet, trying to think of what he could say - what could he say? I knew this entire thing was unbelievable. Now it was next-level unbelievable. We sat in silence for a long time - long enough for Erwin to circle around to check on us and start talking to Armin about his courses.

As they both spoke, I zoned out again and I thought about Marco.

_“Leave him alone!”_

I knew my research was far from over if I really wanted to understand what was going on in the Trost house. I excused myself from the table and gave Armin a small wink of thanks, and also pity, as Erwin pried him further about his upcoming tests, then made my way to one of the directory computers. Once there, I looked up every single book I could find on the paranormal - spirits in particular. Most seemed to be folklore rather than fact, but I didn’t care so much about facts anymore.

Most of the books were pretty typical, but one in particular caught my interest when it mentioned onryō - the type of spirit that Mikasa had mentioned. They were described as violent, mostly female spirits, who, unlike traditional poltergeists, could inflict serious physical harm on a living person out of spite. The only other being capable of physical harm were things called spectres, the book cited, and apparently spectres were the mother of all bad ghosts.

I paused as I thought about the shadow - was that a spectre…?

They were described as highly dangerous - even just saying their name was dangerous, the book warned.

“Don’t say their names… not here…” I realized.

Of the many ways to protect oneself from ghosts, like salt rings and prayers, very few of these methods worked for spectres. Apparently, even moving out wasn’t an option, because they could attach themselves to the living. _Greeeeat._ According to the book, the only way to protect oneself was to purify the house.

_Mikasa._

I rose up quickly and headed back to Armin, who seemed to have finally freed himself from Erwin. He pushed his book aside and looked up to me expectantly.

“Find something?”

“I need Mikasa.” I blurted out, to which Armin’s nose scrunched up.

“With all this going on, _that’s_ where your head is...?”

I was about to get seriously defensive until I realized he was just kidding with me. Yeah, he was definitely spending too much time with Eren...

“She offered to purify the house.” I explained quickly, “And if I'm dealing with what I think I am, I might just have to take her up on that.”

Armin bit his lip suddenly, pondering for an appropriate response.

“What?” I spat, knowing that look.

“U-Um, it’s just…” Armin started, “With everything that happened… with you…”

My shoulders fell a little as I remembered my outburst. “They’re still that upset, huh?”

“Jean, you told them to… well, y’know…”

“Okay, but only because they got Annie involved - you can’t tell me that wasn’t messed up!”

“I’m not saying it wasn’t, it’s just… look, it’s not just that. There’s some other things that have been going on, too.”

Confused, I took my chair back in front of Armin. “Other things?”

Armin sighed and looked around as if he wasn’t supposed to be telling me what he was about to tell me.

“I’ve heard the others say things about you… even before all this.”

“What things?”

“That you never hang out with them anymore.”

“They never invite me!”

“...because they got tired of you turning them down whenever they did.” Armin revealed, and I fell quiet again as he continued, “And, I guess… I know Connie had been upset that you never invited him or anybody over to the house after you moved in.”

“Are you serious? _That’s_ what all this is about?”

“It’s just what I’ve heard, Jean. But until you apologize… I don’t know if you’re going to be able to get Mikasa’s help.”

“Why not? I didn’t mean it towards her. Hell, I didn’t mean it at all!”

As my voice raised, I noticed Armin look down. “Well, you _sounded_ like you did, and you kinda said it to… _everybody_.”

Other than frustrated, I was downright embarrassed and beside myself with what to do. To even think of Mikasa thinking of me in that kind of light made me feel all kinds of sick. I looked up to Armin, who was glancing at me worriedly.

“I’m sorry - ” He said, before I could.

“No, don’t be.” I waved him off, “This is on me. Thanks for letting me know, and… thanks for everything else. Our secret, okay?”

As I got up from the table in a sudden hurry, Armin watched after me.

“Jean, wait - are you going to be alright?” I heard him ask, "I don't think it's a good idea to go back there - "

I stopped and shrugged, unable to meet his gaze.

“Good ideas haven't really been my thing lately.”

 

* * *

 

I didn’t return to the house until I had bought new light bulbs, three canisters of salt, and a burner phone until my other one could be repaired; it seemed my only luck was reserved for the damn thing still being under warranty. After staring at the house for a while, I finally willed myself to get out of my car.

“Alright… first sign of _anything_ and I’m out of here. Completely.” I told myself as I walked up the pathway, plastic bags from three different stores swaying in my grip.

It was strange to enter the house with my new knowledge of it; someone - several people - had really died here. I tried my best not to think about it and focused on cleaning everything up while my temporary phone updated and charged. Instead, I thought about Mikasa, Connie, Sasha and everyone else. I had never thought for a second what I was doing had impacted them so much. No one wasn’t so much wrong as there was a gigantic misunderstanding... even so, would they even _accept_ an apology from me at this point?

After replacing the light in the first lamp, I found it wouldn’t turn on. When I tried a different bulb, the result was the same. Wondering if it was just the lamp, I went to one upstairs - one that I knew worked - and test the bulbs. They shined just fine. It was a circuit issue, and the circuit breaker was…

_Oh, God._

The basement. Of every part of the house it could have been located, it was in the _basement_. I rapidly began feeling uneasy again, like I was going to throw up even though I still hadn’t ate anything. I sought out the flashlight in the kitchen, as well as one of the containers of salt, and approached the basement door. I had probably only gone down there once or twice in the whole month I’d lived there and even before all the crap I'd felt uneasy. But things were different, now. Now I knew things. Things like...

 

_Marco Bott had died down there._

 

I shook my head. Okay. No. Hell no. I wasn’t going down there. I didn’t need the lights. I’d just go upstairs when it got dark out, those lights worked just fine… I mean, unless the ghosts decided to knock those out, too, and then I’d be stuck upstairs in the dark with no way out except through a two-story window…  _Come on, Jean. Be a man about this._ What happened to the old-you? The old-you who didn’t believe in this crap? Who wouldn’t think twice about apologizing to a bunch of so-called friends who were in the wrong? Gritting my teeth, I slowly began down the steps.

"Damn it. Damn it. Damn it."

Thankfully, the basement had a small egress window that offered in some sunlight in what was otherwise a dark, empty room with several wooden support beams and a reinforced concrete floor. The circuit breaker was directly at the bottom of the stairs, too - if I was quick, I’d be able to reset it and run back up before anything happened… _if_ anything happened.

I tried not to look at anything except for the circuit breaker, flashlight in one hand, salt in the other. Even as I began to feel a sudden coldness on the back of my neck, I purposely ignored it and kept searching for the downstairs living room switches. Even as I could feel the presence of something _disturbing_ the air in the room behind me, I kept searching. Even as my hand began trembling, causing the light of the flashlight to shoot anywhere but where I was trying to look, I…

I turned around.

Someone was there - standing directly in the center of the basement, looking towards me. I froze.

Familiar, sad eyes. Black hair, parted slightly. A faded, green shirt and plain, brown cargo pants. Barefoot. If it weren’t for the fact that I could see through him slightly, I would’ve taken him for someone who had just wandered into the basement.

And here I was, rooted to the floor, just staring right back at him. I had dropped the flashlight and salt already, and hadn’t even realized it. After a moment too long, the spirit tilted his head, seemingly confused. He wasn’t aimlessly drifting about. He was _aware_ of the present, he was aware of _me_. In response, I gave him a similar, unsure look.

“Can you… see me?” He asked, voice was clear and soft.

My mouth parted, but no words came out. I couldn’t process anything anymore - I could only stare.

“You can… see me, but you can’t hear me?” He tried again.

I felt my lip tremble before I spoke. “I… I can hear you.”

Okay, I was _definitely_ dreaming. Maybe the ghost thought he was dreaming, too, because he looked to be in a lot more shock than me. He had backed up towards the wall, where the window was. I wasn’t sure if he was going to scream or cry. Could ghosts cry…?

“I don’t believe it…” I heard him murmur, “T-There’s no way, unless…”

He looked back to me once more, and when I met his gaze, he collected himself. And then he smiled; that’s all it took for me to know he was Marco Bott, from the photograph.

“You can really see and hear me right now?” He confirmed, much more excitedly.

“Yes…” I answered, breathless as Marco stepped away from the wall, soundlessly moving towards me. A familiar cold feeling hit me again, and I tensed back up. Screw dreaming, I was absolutely _hallucinating_ at this point.

Marco paused immediately, as if he sensed what I was feeling. “Oh, right… I’m sorry, it’s just… nobody’s ever heard me before, and...”

He trailed off and I was stuck in absolute silence. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know if he was real. I didn’t know _what_ was real. What the hell do you tell a ghost who’s trying to strike up a conversation with you? Anyone?

Marco’s smile faded and he looked away from me. “It’s okay… I don’t doubt that you probably need a minute to… take this in...”

“S-Something like that…” I finally said, somehow through the shock finding that I was slightly upset that I had saddened him somehow. I hadn’t meant to. He seemed… nice… _for a ghost_.

Marco nodded knowingly. “I won’t hurt you, you know.”

The incident from last night came to mind right away.

“I… I think I know that already...” I told him, inwardly begging for my heart to settle down as it was seconds from bursting, “... that was you, last night? Right?”

“Yeah.” His voice fell soft.

“You were… protecting me? From that shadow thing?”

He nodded without speaking and I could tell right away that he didn’t want to talk about it.

“Did you… find what you were looking for?” He asked instead, and I could see that he was glancing at the salt that was spilled around my feet. _Awkward._

“So it was _you_ who broke my phone…” I realized, “‘Stop, not here, don’t say their names’... was that you?”

“Yes.” He answered, still looking worriedly at the salt, “I-I’m sorry I broke it. I didn’t have a choice. If you said their names… I wouldn’t be able to protect you anymore.”

“What about you, then?” I asked, “What if I said _your_ name?”

“Don’t be an idiot!” He suddenly snapped, “How do you know I’m not one of them?!”

After a few seconds, I lost it. I felt myself chuckle, and before I could stop myself I was laughing, _hard_. I guess this was what losing one’s sanity was like - and the look on the ghost’s face - _the ghost’s face_ \- was priceless. He was so absolutely _confused_.

“Even _ghosts_ are dicks to me…” I managed through my cackling, as I sank down to the floor.

Marco shifted from confused, to aggravated-looking, as I failed continuously to revive my demeanor. “Why are you laughing? This is serious!” He shot at me, “Why haven’t you run away yet? _What’s wrong with you?"_

“God, everything, I guess…!” I wheezed, shaking my head, each of his comments fueling more and more laughter. I must’ve looked like a maniac. Maybe I was.

The ghost could only watch in silence as I finally calmed myself and managed to look back up at him.

“I know you’re not one of them, because you would have tried to hurt me already… besides, haven’t you’ve been protecting me?” I spoke simply, before smirking, “Looks like the other idiot is you, Marco.”

At my words, Marco seemed to be trying to fight back a smile. I could see even in his otherworldly state that wanted to look angry, but he just _couldn’t_. I finally stood up, and though my instincts still kept me tense, my original fear was entirely gone.

“Let’s take this from the top, then,” I started, extending a hand, “I’m Jean, and… well, uh, I kinda suck at being haunted.”

He didn’t return my handshake and instead fumbled with his own hands. “I’m Marco… and I… _kinda suck_ … at haunting.”

We both grinned, a small silence settling between us, and it was then that I began to realize whatever fear I’d had before was warping more into more of a surreal feeling that I couldn’t place. Was this seriously happening right now? Whatever the case, I felt the slightest sense of comfort in his presence, and I had a feeling he felt the same.

“You, um, probably have a lot of questions…” Marco told me after a while, “I’ll be able to tell you some things, but… I just need some time. There’s a lot to this.”

“That’s... fine. This is a lot to take in right now, anyway.” I murmured as I scratched the back of my neck, “Not really something that happens every day, you know?”

“Well, you haven’t run away screaming yet, so… I think you’re doing okay so far.”

Marco smiled again, fully, like from the picture, and I felt a sudden sensation well up within my chest that I couldn't place.


	5. Day 3,582

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "But no matter where I woke up, or when, it was always at the house, and then I’d remember again. I’d remember that I was dead."

When I first saw Jean Kirstein, he was being given a tour of the property. I remembered his two-toned undercut, his narrow, amber eyes, and in particular _how absolutely bored he looked with everything_. He wasn’t nervous or excited. He was a pale, dull blue, that reminded me of a Monday morning sky.

It took me a while to realize he was going to be our new tenant because it took him forever to move in. He spent nearly an entire month of inconsistently dropping off boxes downstairs and promptly leaving, week after week. Most of the time, he was that boring, blue color, but every now and then I’d catch him radiating something much brighter: a shade of orange that I’d never seen before. But just before I could enjoy the warmth of it, he was gone again.

 

* * *

 

Once Jean had finally moved in, I saw that he shifted through an entire range of colors, and after some time, I began to know every single one. A sharp, blinding red whenever he was angry. A pale yellow, whenever he came home from work tired. A dark purple whenever he slept. His “usual” dull blue and very rarely, orange, when he was happy.

_“Don’t tell me you’re getting attached already…”_

Sometimes, it was so easy to forget _they_ were there. I think there was a part of me that tried to forget. But then autumn would come around and so would they, like clockwork.

“I’m not.” I tried to argue, even though I knew they were right.

I _was_ getting attached. Jean was the first tenant we’d had in years who had stayed this long, seemingly unaffected by our presence. Most people ran out the first moment they’d felt a cold spot from accidentally walking through one of us - nevermind the few who actually _saw_ us. I never got to really know them, unlike Jean, who  I was starting to know almost everything about, without even trying to. Even some things that I was too embarrassed to think about. _Did you know Jean likes to sing in the shower, and that he's actually pretty good at singing?_

More than anything, though, I grew to know the colors of his aura. The energy that surrounded all beings. It was how I knew Jean was okay, or deeply troubled. And after a while, I started to notice his colors were hardly colors at all - having almost completely darkened from fear.

And I knew it was all because of _them_ \- all because of Reiner and Bertholdt.

 

* * *

 

I can’t remember where I was when I’d first heard the commotion from upstairs. That was just how things were for me: I drifted in and out of a never-ending sleep. Most of the time, I woke up in the basement, but sometimes I woke up in the living room or even one of the bathrooms. But no matter where I woke up, or when, it was always at the house, and then I’d remember again.

I’d remember that I was dead.

_“Piece of shit - stop it!”_

Jean was shouting.

Immediately, I went up the stairs to see that he was clinging onto the sink with everything he had; in the mirror, his face was distressed, but he seemed to be trying to laugh it off. That was when I saw that the water had overflowed onto the floor, and I figured out pretty quickly what was happening.

Were they really going to do this _now?_ I supposed I always knew they would, eventually. It was how they were...

Jean had made his way back downstairs, visibly upset. He had been this way for weeks - for reasons I knew existed outside of the house, reasons I could only imagine. I hoped that he would’ve gone straight for the door, that he would’ve left, but instead, he stopped right in the middle of the living room and held his face as his shoulders trembled. This wasn’t good. He was the epitome of sitting duck, without the faintest idea of the danger he was about to be in…

Sensing Reiner and Bertholdt nearby, I knew I needed to do something. And quickly.

With everything I had, I focused on the downstairs lights. The started to brighten, then dim, but still, Jean’s eyes were cringed shut as he cried to himself, his aura a telling mix of blue and red; I had to try harder. Once again, I looked to the lights, and they flickered rapidly - just enough to finally catch Jean’s attention - perfect! I had hoped it’d be enough to send him towards the front door, to safety, but he just stood there, _looking_ . I needed to try again, just one last time, with whatever shred of energy I had remaining; I could already _feel_  one of them pushing at the veil between us and the real world, where Jean was.

In my panic, I tried to warn him again with the lights, but instead of a gentle flicker, I gave too much, and they exploded, plunging the room into darkness. A deep laughter came from behind me right after and I could already tell by the way the air was twisting around that it was Reiner.

I felt his hands grasp my shoulders and heard him sneer, “What was _that_ , Marco?”

I didn’t look at him. I didn’t say anything. My focus was on Jean, who was motionless. On the other side of him, in the corner of the room, Bertholdt was struggling to break the veil, his energy violently shaking and twisting around him, like a pit of hissing cobras. It looked intense, but it was entirely unstable.

“He won’t be able to do it.” I remarked, tense as Reiner kept his hands on me, “He’s not strong enough yet.”

“After everything we’ve been through, you _still_ underestimate us?” Reiner asked me - no, _reminded_ me, before he encouraged Bertholdt to keep going.

I clenched my fists and watched on. I could see that Jean’s aura was now pulsing into a dark, blackish-blue color as he seemed to be staring towards Bertholdt. I felt every part of me constrict with panic as I realized the veil was actually starting to break, and Jean _still_ wasn’t moving.

“Run, stupid!” I cried, dashing towards him, but his attention stayed set on the danger right in front of him.

“They can’t hear you. For the hundredth time.” Reiner spat at me, annoyed as I desperately circled around Jean. I was so... _useless_.

Jean’s skin was covered in chills and sweat, his expression frozen in fear, his amber eyes unblinking. I looked from him to Bertholdt, who had almost completely stepped through the veil, and suddenly, a new feeling came over me: the look on his face was so hollow and evil. It was _exactly_ the look I had seen right before… before he and Reiner had...

I felt my arms extend out and I stared Bertholdt down. Not again. I wouldn’t let them do it again.

“Leave him alone.” I demanded.

Bertholdt grit his teeth, anger taking over his features, “Marco, _move_.”

I was shaking, now. I could feel Bertholdt’s energy hitting me like a million needles. What was I _doing?_ Reiner, too weak to intervene with us, shouted for Bertholdt to take me down against the howling of the veil threatening to close back over us. It wasn’t thin enough, yet. Bertholdt may have managed to break through it, but I knew he wouldn’t be able to keep holding it open like this. I stood my ground, taking the pain, which was now feeling more like a million _knives_...

“I said leave him alone!” I shouted, and finally - _finally_ Bertholdt was sucked back to the other side. He glared at me before he was swept away, and Reiner followed.

They were gone, for now. Hopefully, for a while.

When I turned to see if Jean was alright, he was still standing there, mortified, and I knew, just like all the other times, this would be the last time I would ever see him. I knew he’d leave - he’d move away, with or without his things, like every other tenant had done over the last ten years. My time getting to know him was over.

“I’m so sorry.” I said, even though I knew he couldn’t hear me.

Then, the sleep fell over me like a dark sheet and I drifted away, back to nothing, back to…

 

* * *

 

I came to in the same place - the living room. It looked to be morning, but I had no idea if it was the _next_ morning, or a morning months later. I remembered the last thing that had taken place, and looked around to see if the furniture (or lack thereof) had changed, and to my surprise, it was still all the same - even the shattered light bulbs were still strewn all over the floor. But I knew not to get too excited right away, because it still didn’t mean that Jean hadn’t left.

I shook my head. What was wrong with me? Why was I being so selfish? Jean _couldn’t_ stay here. Not after last night, not with October coming so soon, when the veil would be at it’s thinnest. No, I decided, I’d be relieved to see him gone. I’d be happy… right?

I glanced around, before catching sight of something glowing in the kitchen. An aura. I sought it out, and found Jean sitting at the table, surrounded in a familiar, pale yellow. He looked tired, but otherwise okay. I sighed a small whisper of gratitude, but not before the conflict came back over me.

_Why was he still here?_

Jean looked off towards the window and stayed that way for a while. I began to wonder what he was looking at, and I found myself over there, looking outside at a blank, white void. I guess I would never know.

Jean’s aura darkened suddenly, bringing my attention back to him. He seemed like he’d had another small shock and was now looking to the small screen in his hands. It had taken me more time than I’d like to admit to figure out the device was a cell phone, as the ones I had remembered used to have buttons. One of the many things Jean had taught me in his time here, without meaning to. On the screen, Jean was typing something out into the search engine: the house’s address.

I felt something sharp hit me at the realization that he was seeking information about the house, the realization he might stumble across their names. _What if he said them?_ They were already nearly strong enough to break the veil now… if he said their names, there was no telling what would happen.

I needed to stop him. I didn’t care how drained I was from last night. If this attempt put me out for the rest of the year, I was ready to take that chance. I focused on his phone, thinking of a stream of warnings to project onto it, and it was absolutely unreal to hear Jean read them aloud. It was the closest thing I’d had to a conversation with a living person in… I couldn’t remember when.

Watching Jean try to turn the phone back on made me feel a little guilty for manipulating it, but I reminded myself that it was necessary. Even as Jean dashed out of the house, maybe forever this time, I reminded myself it was necessary.

 

* * *

 

I woke up in the basement.

_Still daylight._

I heard someone fumbling behind me and took in the sight of Jean messing with the circuit breaker. I think what was most striking to me, other than seeing him again, was the fact he was holding a container of salt from the grocery store. _What on earth was he planning to do with that?_

As I watched him, he seemed to pick up on me as his shoulders rose and his hands became more clumsy and shaky. Out of nowhere, he turned to look towards me. I knew he could sense me, but there was no telling if he could see me… at least until he dropped his flashlight and the salt, and his eyes meeting my own.

Unsure, I instinctively asked him.

“Can you see me?” I almost laughed as I said it - sure, seeing me might be possible, but _hearing_ me? No one ever heard me…

“You can see me, but you can’t hear me.” I reaffirmed to myself.

There had been nothing in my lifetime, or my after-lifetime, that would’ve prepared me for what followed...

“I can hear you.” Jean replied quietly.

I didn’t know what to think at first. I didn’t know if this was real, or another one of Reiner’s tricks. But there was no way Reiner could imitate an aura. Especially one as complex as Jean’s was. This had to be real. But if it was, if Jean really could hear me, then that meant...

“I don’t believe it,” I said, finally looking back to Jean, “There’s no way, unless…”

_Unless we’re connected._

I had to ask him again, to be sure. “You can really see and hear me right now?”

When he answered with a shaky “yes”, I went to approach him, but stopped when I saw his aura darken and constrict. He was afraid again. Of course he was afraid… to him, I wasn’t another person. I was a spirit. I was a thing that you either believed in, or didn’t believe in. I was folklore. A creature. A _story_.

I tried being sincere as I told him that nobody had ever heard me before. When he remained quiet, I assured him it was okay, and that I wasn’t going to hurt him.

“I… I think I know that already... that was you, last night? Right?”

 _He had seen me?_ Well, of course he had. He could see me now. He could hear me, now. It only made sense…

“You were… protecting me? From that shadow thing?”

I fell tense as he brought up Bertholdt. I didn’t want him to go there. I didn’t want him to even _think_ about him; any thought like that was just more energy for them. And God-forbid that Jean ever said their names out loud…

“Did you… find what you were looking for?” I tried to pry, growing cautious of the salt around his feet. From that alone, I knew he had done _some_ kind of research regarding ghosts, but my main concern was regarding what _else_ he had found out.

When Jean blamed me over his phone, I felt my shoulders fall. “I-I’m sorry I broke it. I didn’t have a choice. If you said their names… I wouldn’t be able to protect you anymore.”

“What about you, then?” He asked, with a slight teasing look on his face, “What if I said _your_ name?”

For a second, I could only stare at him - did he not understand how serious this situation was? Sure, it was great he was relaxing with me a little, but that had just sounded...  _cocky_. Nothing would kill him faster in this house than an attitude like that. I wouldn't have it.

“Don’t be an idiot!” I warned him, adding, “How do you know I’m not one of them?!”

His response was… far from what I had expected. He just started laughing, which was strange because his aura stayed a stark, vivid blue - _utter sadness_. As he absolutely broke before me, I had to think about what I had even _said_.

“Even ghosts are dicks to me…” I heard him choke out, and - _how was I being a dick?!_

“Why are you laughing? This is serious! Why haven’t you run away yet - what’s wrong with you?” I went off, but it only seemed to make him laugh more. This was not how I had ever imagined my first conversation with a living person to go.

When Jean finally came down from… _whatever_ I had tripped in his head… he stared at me, and I saw that his aura had changed into a solid crimson. _Fearlessness_. Why... why wasn’t afraid anymore?

“I know you’re not one of them, because you would have tried to hurt me already… besides, haven’t you’ve been protecting me? Looks like the other idiot is you, Marco.”

When I heard him say my name (even though it was in lieu of him calling me an idiot), I fell into a mix of emotions. I was thrilled, excited, but so absolutely _scared_ \- scared that he knew who I was, scared that he probably knew what had happened to me, too… it was a vulnerable feeling, unlike anything I had ever felt, even when I had been alive.

“Let’s take this from the top, then,” He said, extending a hand, “I’m Jean, and… well, uh, I kinda suck at being haunted.”

I looked at his hand, then looked away. I felt like my chest was going to cave in. I wanted to reach out. I wanted to take his hand, I wanted to feel someone else - someone _alive_ … but I couldn’t. I could never, ever touch him.

“I’m Marco… and I… kinda suck… at haunting.” I used his words, and he smiled at me, his aura shifting to orange - strong and bright, like it had been when he had first moved in.

I hadn’t realized just how much I had missed it.


	6. September, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coming out of my cage  
> And I've been doing just fine

There was a lot of useless information I had retained from high school, like the fact there were over 170,000 words in the English language. And of all those words, there wasn’t a single combination I could think of to truly describe what living beside a ghost was like in the weeks leading into September. For me, it was the kind of thing that there were no words for, but I guess if I had to try…

 

**Unbelievable.**

I can’t really say that I “got used” to Marco. At least, not for a while. Following our meeting in the basement, each and every time he’d appear to me, I would fall into this weird shock. And even when he wasn’t around (or at least, when I couldn't _see_ him around) I felt incredibly uneasy. Not so much because of him, but because of what he _was_.

Coming to terms with that fact that spirits were real had never come easy to me before, and it seemed that despite this new… erm, _proof_ … that it wasn’t going to come easy now. There was a deep part of me that honestly felt as though everything I was experiencing was a result of my own nerves - but if that were the case, I’d have to give myself a lot of credit, because my hallucinations of Marco were incredibly realistic. _Too_ realistic, actually. Too much to be a product of my own, broken brain...

His movements, though not exactly physical, were calculated and ever-changing. Marco was never stationary. He constantly blinked, and looked around, and sometimes even looked as though he were _breathing_. Even the clothes he wore wrinkled and unwrinkled around his frame. If it weren’t for the whole _see-through_ thing, he really seemed as though he was right there with me.

But, I guess in a way, he was.

“How… exactly are you here?”

I had asked him that the day I had met him in the basement, after we had moved upstairs.

The morning sun was still shining brightly, and the neighborhood was saturated with the sounds of birds chirping, cars passing by, and dogs barking in the distance. We sat a good distance across from one another in the empty living room, and I left the front and back doors of the house open, allowing for gentle breeze to soothe the space between us (and also ample opportunity for me to run, if I felt the need).

Marco looked thoughtfully up at the ceiling for a moment, then back to me.

“From what I’ve come to know, when people pass on, they normally leave this world completely...” Marco eventually said, his hands fiddling in his lap as he sat with me.

“And go where - Heaven, Hell?”

Marco smiled a little sadly, then shrugged, “Not sure. I only know they leave. Whether or not there’s some kind of Heaven or Hell… or nothingness… I guess it’s not for me to know. Because when I died, I got trapped _here_.”

I stayed quiet and allowed him a moment to collect his thoughts. I realized that this wasn’t going to be an easy conversation to have for either of us, but especially for him. As his gaze fell to the floor, I anxiously anticipated his response.

“There’s this thing we call the veil,” Marco began, drawing invisible lines in the floor, “Think of it like these two, big walls. When you die, you pass through them and go on to… whatever’s next… but me, I-I’m… stuck between those walls. I’m _inside_ the space between them, in the veil.”

I crossed my arms as I tried to process his words. “I take it that’s not supposed to happen?”

Marco could only shake his head. Now it was _my_ turn to gather my thoughts. This entire thing was unreal, but now it was next-level unreal. The veil? _Walls?_ What else did I have to believe now?

“So, this veil thing… is that how I can see and hear you right now?”

“Sort of. The veil isn’t static, it’s more fluid. It changes and moves,” Marco explained, as his hands rose up and down to form a wave, “Sometimes it’s thick, like concrete, and sometimes it’s as thin as a shower curtain…”

“Let me guess - the thinner it is, the easier it is to see you?”

“Exactly that,” Marco nodded, “And usually it starts becoming thinner towards October, so… that’s probably why you’re starting to see... _more._ ”

Marco appeared to coil back up again, so once more I gave him some time. I had a feeling he was talking about the other spirit, but it didn’t seem as though he was ready to talk about it just yet. I knew I couldn’t push him too much on it, either, but I needed at least one answer...

“Am I… safe?”

“For right now, yes.” Marco answered, before looking as though he was exhaling, “I don’t expect you to trust me, but I’ll warn you if that changes… but given the other night, and the amount of energy that took… I think we’ll both be okay for a while.”

I wasn’t exactly comfortable with that “for now” idea, but part of me did feel as though I could trust Marco. Shit, part of me felt like I _knew_ him, but… maybe it was just the story of him.

“You, uh, said that nobody's ever heard you before - is that because of the thinning stuff too?”

At my question, Marco looked up at me. He bit his lip and seemed to be hesitating. After a pause, he shrugged slightly. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

 _That_ seemed untrue, but still, I wasn’t about to press him too much. A pause settled over us as I listened to the sound of a car driving past. I glanced to Marco and noticed he was looking towards the door, too.

“What does it all look like to you?” I found myself asking, though it was meant to only be a thought.

“What does _what_ look like?”

I shrugged and grasped the back of my neck. “I don’t know - the world, I guess. This house. _Me_. Is it the same to you, or is it different-looking? In the veil?”

“I’ve… um, kind of forgot what it’s _supposed_ to look like...” Marco admitted, seemingly more embarrassed than sad, “It’s the lighting, I think? Like, I know it’s supposed to be morning right now, and I feel like mornings were _brighter_ than this. To me, things are kind of… dim all the time. Most of the colors are orange - sort of like how it is before sunset, only all the time.”

As I imagined Marco and the living room in the twilight of the veil, I felt the faintest sense of tranquility - another fancy word I’d retained from school.

“Honestly, that sounds kinda pretty.”

Marco managed to smile, though his eyes remained somber...

 

**Intrusive.**

I don’t know how I had managed to sleep after everything that day, but it must have been exhaustion, because when I woke up, I was still on the living room floor. It was a coldness that had woken me up - _Marco_. He was sitting just beside me, staring at me closely. So closely that despite his transparency, I could see the freckles on his face.

I think he got the message to never do that again after I had jumped to my feet and nearly had another heart attack; he apologized profusely and disappeared for a while, leaving me with the fact that - _yes_ , everything that had happened _still_ wasn’t a dream.

After Marco had fled, I began to wonder just _where_ he went when I couldn’t see him. Was he still able to see me? And if so, how long had he been watching me for? Just recently, with all of this, or since I moved in? I felt a burning heat creep over my face when I started wondering about everything Marco might have seen me do over the last month I had been living there. Surely nothing I’d ever wanted anyone to see.

I ran a hand over my face. I had enough of being on surveillance at work all day, now it was at home, too? At least at Titan’s the cameras weren’t in the damn bathrooms - say, come to think of it, did ghosts have blind spots? Was that a thing? I doubted any of the books at the library could say for sure.

It was a little late into Thursday afternoon when a chill signaled Marco’s presence; I was in the kitchen making up something to eat. Instead of looking for him right away, I closed my eyes and waited for him to speak. I needed to prepare myself before seeing him or I’d wind up a ghost myself at this rate.

“Marco?” I asked.

“Hi Jean…” Was the soft reply.

I swallowed my spit and opened only one of my eyes to take him in first, then my other. I don’t know why I even felt afraid because he looked like the picture-perfect definition of a guilty child as he stood in the entryway of the kitchen.

“I’m sorry I was watching you this morning. I didn’t mean to be such a creep. Really. I-I know it’s not an excuse, but I’m not used to people being able to see me so easily… and I was only that close because no one’s ever been able to talk to me before, so, I guess I was just curious about you. That’s all, I promise. I won’t do it again.”

He hung his head in shame and I had to turn off the heat from the pasta I was attempting to make so I could console him.

“You’re okay…” I told him slowly, “But, uh, maybe promise me not to just disappear like that, either? We could’ve talked it out this morning, y’know. You’ve had me hanging all day.”

Marco looked a little surprised before staring at his feet. _Was he hovering?_ “Sorry...”

I half-smiled and turned back to the stove, and despite my careful attitude the other day, I slammed him with a question that would have probably been better unasked: “Guess while we’re on the subject… what _else_ have you watched me do, anyway?”

Oh, I could just _hear_ his embarrassment deepen.

“Look, I’m not a pervert or anything! I don’t watch _everything_ you do, if that’s what you mean.”

“So, that time I was taking a really hot shower and suddenly everything got really cold… that wasn’t you?”

I had a grin on my face as I was only kidding, but when I looked up, Marco appeared to be blushing something fierce, his cheeks a darker grayish-blue. _Wait._ Had he…? I felt my own blush come over my face.

“I was… I was just _joking_ …” I admitted slowly and Marco disappeared from the kitchen.

I winded up overcooking the pasta.

* * *

It was mid-Friday morning before I saw Marco again.

Rather than apologetic and embarrassed, like he’d been on Thursday, now he just seemed frustrated. I couldn’t blame him too much, though - I’d pulled a dick move on him. It was _my_ turn to apologize, but before I could, Marco started up.

“I’ve seen you do everything, okay? But a lot of it isn’t my fault. Yes, I can blip in and out if I want. But sometimes, I can’t control it. Being conscious and visible to you takes energy, and when I run out - well, it’s like falling asleep, and then waking up somewhere else. Most of the time, I wake up in the basement, but sometimes, I’ve woken up in your bedroom - and _yes_ , sometimes I’ve woken up in the bathroom, too. So without trying, I’ve seen you do things…” He trailed and shut his eyes tightly, “Things that only somebody you’re married to is supposed to see!”

I felt my mouth part but I could say nothing, my mind replaying his first sentence over and over again.

_I’ve seen you do everything._

Marco seemed to pick up on my utter embarrassment and despite blushing himself, he smiled gently; dead or alive, revenge was sweet.

“It’s true, Jean. I’ve heard just about every rendition of “Mr. Brightside” imaginable from you singing in the shower.”

Somehow, _this_ particular admission was worse to me than the idea he had probably seen me _touching myself_.

“Alright, alright. I get it. You’re an _accidental pervert_ , then.” I mock-batted Marco away as I made a beeline for the stairs.

Silently, Marco more-or-less floated after me. “I’m telling you, man - almost none of it is intentional, it just happens!”

“Sure, sure!” I shot back over my shoulder as I fled up the stairs.

Though I didn’t see him, I could hear Marco laughing softly before I darted into my room and slammed the door. I don’t know why I bothered - he’d see me anyways, right?

 

**Comforting.**

By the time Friday was drawing to an end, I started to wonder if I was transparent, too. It had only been three days, but I had already started to realize how much Marco had an uncanny ability to sense my emotions.

“You’re anxious.” He observed.

I was lying on my bed with my phone screen stuck on Connie’s Facebook page when I noticed him near the window.

“C-Could you at least come through the door instead of just _appearing_ in my room?” I pleaded, to which Marco winced an apology.

“Sorry, I-I’ll try to remember next time,” he said, “You okay, though?”

“I don’t know. I guess I _am_ a little 'anxious'.” I agreed, struggling to shut off the phone screen for a moment; I wasn’t used to the burner phone yet. “Back to work tomorrow.”

“Oh. What do you do?”

“I lie to customers about home gym equipment until they buy it.” I answered naturally, smirking.

I could see Marco’s smile becoming more forced. “Oh, that’s… um, _neat_.”

“Neat’s just another word for ‘sucks’.” I explained, discarding the phone and tucking my hands behind my head.

“If that's the case, why don’t you find something else?”

I looked from Marco to the ceiling. “I’ve been asking myself that for two years.”

“Well?”

“I don’t know what else there is.”

What a lie. I knew there were other places. Other stores. Other buildings. Other jobs. Some closer, some farther. There was also the whole going-back-to-college, thing. I honestly didn’t know what kept me tied to Titan’s, but whenever I began to think about it too much I just started to feel incredibly... _scared_.

“I know, what about professional karaoke?” Marco asked, grinning as he reminded me of my shower concerts.

“Don’t make me throw salt at you, because I totally will.”

Marco seemed to roll his eyes and he edged a little closer to my bed. I pulled my covers over myself a little more as he did; the dude might as well have been a floating freezer.

“I probably _should_ just go somewhere else,” I pondered aloud, “Just about ruined everything I could there, anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

_Sheesh, was I really having therapy hour with a ghost right now?_

“I kind of… pissed off all of my coworkers. Now nobody’s talking to me. I mean, I’m not talking to them either, but… it’s just awkward. I’d rather…” ... _die than go in there tomorrow._ Upon realizing what I was about to say to Marco, I paused to correct myself. “... _eat glass_ than go in there tomorrow.”

Marco chuckled, “Eat glass?”

I just shrugged - it was the second-fastest thing that came to mind.

“What did you do that was so wrong?” Marco pressed me, eyes genuinely concerned.

I pulled the sheets tighter to my body, memory of that day replaying in my head. “To make a long story short… I kind of… well, basically I said “fuck you” to all of them.”

Marco leaned away from me slightly, surprised. _“Why?”_

“Because, well, they _deserved_ it - they kept making fun of me. I don’t know, there’s more to it than that…”

“Like what?”

“For one, they always excluded me from everything. I’d come to work and half of ‘em would be hungover from some party that nobody told me about. They’d make plans in the break room - loudly - to go to the movies or go camping, and not even look my way. Seriously, this whole thing was building for a long time. It was bound to happen, one way or another...”

When I realized I was rambling, I trailed off and looked away from Marco. For some reason, I thought about his high school photograph from the football field. Was the teasing and consistently being left out of invites really _that_ bad? Surely it couldn’t be. Not in comparison to what had happened to Marco, to kill him, and leave him stuck here for ten years, only to deal with my dumbass complaining about coworkers. God. At least I was _alive_. I started feel pretty stupid, pretty fast...

“Forget it.” I mumbled, pulling the sheets up and over my head from guilt.

“Come on, Jean. This house already has me,” I heard Marco say, as the sheets were yanked up and away from me by a force I couldn’t see, “It doesn’t another ghost.”

My gaze softened on Marco’s form as the blanket crumpled in a heap at the foot of the bed. Some of his bangs had fallen over his eyes and he reached up to brush them away. I don’t know why I felt the need to reach up and help him straighten his hair, but my hands stayed still in my lap. I wondered what would happen if I tried to touch him. Would my hands fall right through, or would I feel something?

“You angry with them, but you miss them.” Marco confirmed, crossing his arms.

“No, I miss the old them.” I retorted coldly.

“Okay. Old them, then. Tell me about them.”

My eyebrows raised. Something told me he was asking for another reason other than genuine curiosity. Whatever. I'd play along.

“Well, Connie and Sasha - ‘Double Trouble’. Always up to shenanigans. Doing things they shouldn’t, but somehow always getting off the hook. One time at the store, we were closing and they forgot to put up sale signs for the next day, so while the rest of us were clocking out we just heard this huge crash… we run out and find them both on the ground, with paper signs spilt everywhere. I guess they were in such a rush, that instead of getting a ladder, Sasha had climbed onto Connie’s shoulders to place a sign, and… well, first thing the next morning, we all had a safety meeting.”

Marco clapped his hands together, but they made no sound. “Double trouble! I like it!”

“Those two are just the tip of the iceberg. Don’t even get me started on Marlowe and Hitch…”

I went on to describe everyone to Marco, and made extra effort to make Eren sound as horrible as possible, I really did begin to realize how much I missed them. As I spoke, Marco took in every word. He didn’t have a phone to stare at, and I imagined that even if he did, he still wouldn’t have looked at it. His focus was entirely on me, and as I talked to him, a part of me actually started to forget he was a ghost - so much so, that I had become unaware of how cold I felt next to him.

“You’d probably fit right in with Armin, honestly. He’s the only person talking to me right now. Him and Annie.”

As soon as I said her name, my brain came to a screeching halt - Marco’s expression faltered instantly.

“Annie?” He repeated, trying to confirm what we both knew.

 _Shit. Now what?_ Should I lie to him - tell him a different Annie? Tell him the truth - that it was the Annie that he’d known, but now she was all grown up? I didn’t have a second more to fathom the outcome of either truth or lie - Marco knew just from looking at me. Lying to him was out of the question.

“Yeah… I think… you might have known her.” I spoke carefully as Marco looked away from me.

“I’d almost forgotten her…” I heard him murmur, “I feel awful.”

“Would you feel worse if I told you that she hasn’t forgotten about you?”

“Um, _yeah?_ ” Marco stepped off from the bed and went towards the window. “I guess it’s really true, then…”

Marco seemed to be talking more to himself than to me, so I allowed him some time before he turned back to me. “Did she ask you about me?”

“Yeah, but it was before I knew you were here…” I explained, “I told her I hadn’t seen you. But I also told her that I didn’t believe in ghosts.”

Just barely, I saw the faintest flicker of a smile grace Marco’s features. “Did she say anything else?”

_“I just wanted to see if he had moved on.”_

“Nah, just… asked if I had seen you around.”

_So much for not lying._

“Annie was like a little sister to me.” Marco explained, “Our parents were friends, so we saw each other a lot growing up. I was the oldest, so I was in charge of looking out for her. Taught her to throw a punch, y’know?”

“God, so it’s _you_ I can blame for that? She’s our security! She takes out people double her size!”

Marco was beaming, “That’s so great… but it’s funny, because all I can imagine is this little girl I knew...”

I felt my smile fade as Marco looked over me sadly.

“Time is something else,” He told me, “I think when you have it, it seems infinite… until one day, you realize it isn’t. And not only is _not_ infinite, but it’s way too short...”

Damn it. I shook my head. “I should just apologize tomorrow, shouldn’t I?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

* * *

Well, before I could apologize, let alone clock in Saturday morning, I was promptly yanked to the office by Hange.

“Just tell the truth, okay?” They whispered to me before settling me in a chair and closing the door, all in one motion.

As soon as I saw the other empty chair across from me, I knew that this definitely wasn’t a damn promotion. Levi had this thing about discipline - he never did it from across a desk. He wanted to see each and every squirm and anxious foot-tapping. He didn’t want anything hiding you from him. For most of us, it was intimidating as all Hell, but in Levi’s case - super fucking effective tactic. Unless you were Eren, of course. He'd just shout his way out of everything.

I folded my arms and began to ponder what the hell I was in trouble for. The “Fuck You” incident had happened weeks ago, so it wasn’t that. As far as I knew, my department looked _alright_. Other than calling out on Wednesday, nothing was unusual for me - and come on, I seriously wasn’t in here for calling out for the first time all year, was I?

Levi entered the room and I hated myself for flinching when he did.

“Good morning, Jean.”

“Morning, sir.” I repeated dryly. _Please, just get it over with._

“Do you know why you’re here?”

There were so, so many things I wanted to respond with to that, but I bit my tongue. This was the difference between me and Connie. It was probably best if I took Hange’s advice and just told the truth.

“Not really, no.”

“You called off Wednesday claiming to be sick.” Levi started, “But from what I’ve gathered, you weren’t sick at all.”

I stayed quiet.

“Not only that, but for the past few weeks we’ve observed some negativity in your performance - not only with customers, but with your coworkers. Is there anything you’d like to say about that?”

My lips twitched, but I still stayed quiet.

“Brick-and-mortar stores like this are facing a huge battle to stay open when the preferred method of shopping for most people has become online only. And even though we work here, we’re all guilty of it ourselves. So what keeps companies like ours going - more than having products physically available for customers to try for themselves, more than good prices and sales - ”

“ _Customer service._ ” I had to try really hard to not roll my eyes as I said it.

“Teamwork, Jean. It’s teamwork.” Levi corrected me, “Everyone who’s ever shopped anywhere knows the customer service spiel. They know _why_ we greet them, _why_ we ask them if they need help, _why_ we wear these stupid vests. Even the _idiots_ know we just see them as potential dollar signs. So, because of this, we’re in a time where top-notch customer service isn’t enough anymore. That sort of thing only works if everyone does it, and no matter how arduous I make the hiring process, or how scary you all make me out to be, not everyone will be on board. That’s where teamwork comes in. So when somebody else drops the ball, someone else can be there to pick it up and - if my mandatory meetings mean a damn thing anymore - hopefully you inspire each other to care a little more, and the store can remain successful, and we can all collect our paychecks every other Thursday.”

“Fair enough.” I shrugged, my arms still crossed, “But how does all that relate to me?”

“The fact you’re even asking me that should answer your question.” Levi told me, “I’m not here to boost your ego, Jean. You do enough of that on your own. Still, I can’t deny that you are one of my top employees, so when someone like you takes a dive, it’s noticeable. Your department is filthy, for one, and there’s still leftover freight from Wednesday. Both Marlowe and Hitch are too new to figure out what needs to be done - they need someone to lead them, but you’ve shut off. Not only from them, but from every other department, too. Would you care to enlighten me as to why?”

My first thought went to the Trost House, then Marco. There was no way I was talking about any of it - but especially not to Levi. I kept quiet and stared at my feet.

“Is there anything going on that you need to tell me?”

I didn’t say a word. Where would I even begin, if I even wanted to?

“At the end of the day, we are running a business, Jean.” I heard Levi say, as the tell-tale sound of papers shuffling came next, “If you need help, pull your head out of your ass and just _ask_. If not, we still need you to be here, at one-hundred percent… but for now...”

I sighed, not having realized just how much I had sank in the chair. I sat back up and watched as Levi signed the bottom of what I thought was a write-up sheet. As he handed it to me, I saw right away that it was something else.

“I’m offering you a week off. You can use your PTO towards it, if you want. Otherwise, it’s a completely excused leave-of-absence. We want you to sort out whatever it is. I'm also giving you a number to the Employee Assistance Program, if you'd prefer talking to a counselor instead...”

I stared at the leave-of-absence paper with my name and employee number at the top. Next to Levi’s signature, an empty signature box for me to sign. I knew I had three entire weeks of paid time off banked up. This wouldn’t dent me at all money-wise. But I hesitated. Why did this feel so shitty? Being given a vacation for… sucking so much? Given the EAP number? Was I really coming off as this out-of-shape?

“Do I… have to?” I asked.

“Of course not. Only if you feel it would help you.”

From outside the office, out on the floor, I faintly heard the laughter of my coworkers. Ymir’s laughter, specifically - big mouth on that one. I sighed and thought of Marco, drifting around the house. Where did I really _want_ to be? By signing the paper, I was basically accepting that I was a failure. By _not_ signing it, I was walking into Hell. I could already feel myself shaking at the thought of everyone looking at me again - their smiles fading. It made my stomach churn.

I picked up the pen, and thought about Marco as I signed my name.

Levi stayed behind while Hange walked me back out, explaining that Levi had originally wanted to write me up, but she had talked him into the vacation idea instead, and that they were happy I was accepting the time to “heal” myself and that I shouldn’t feel bad about it whatsoever. As we walked closer to the front, I could gradually hear familiar voices becoming whispers and I seriously did everything I could to not look up at anyone. I stared at the linoleum instead. The awful-colored linoleum. I listened beyond Hange’s encouragement; the sound of “Hey Ya!” by OutKast blared over the radio while some customer refused to give Krista their email address. In the distance, a blender buzzing from Sasha making a protein shake - for either herself or a customer, who knew, I was out the door.

My senses calmed as soon as the crisp autumn air met my face. Ambient traffic noises. No more “Hey Ya!” - not for a whole week. _Thank God._

* * *

When I returned right back home and told Marco the outcome of the meeting, for some reason he wasn’t nearly as excited as I was.

“Jean, you’re just running away from your problems.”

“Hey, I’m still going to apologize!” I assured him, “That hasn’t changed at all. It’s just been... _delayed_.”

“The longer you wait, the harder it’s going to be.” Marco claimed before walking directly through a wall to get to the kitchen. “You should have at least done it before you left.”

After I processed that yeah, Marco had just walked through a wall, I walked around to meet him again. “I thought you’d like the company.”

“Don’t use me as an excuse,” He argued, as he manipulated with some of the poetry letter magnets on the fridge. (Thanks for those, mom.)

“Even if it’s the truth?”

Marco rolled his eyes and disappeared. In his wake, he left two magnets isolated for me:

 

_Mr._

_bright_

_side_


	7. September, Part 2

**Beneficial.**

I didn’t see Marco the rest of the day.

I guess it was a given, though. He had _really_ wanted me to apologize and make things right with everyone - much more than I wanted to, it seemed.

But what he didn't understand was that I was conflicted, in a number of ways.

I knew if things were going to be reconciled at this point, it would have to be me to initiate it. It didn't seem like Connie or any of them were going to make the first move on that, which… sucked. It was on me. It always was, because it was always my fault. Jean Kirstein, messing things up. Saying things he shouldn’t of said, even if those things were completely true or justified.

* * *

 

It was two days into my little “vacation” and I’d done very little, if anything, productive. I hadn’t even cleaned or gone grocery shopping. I just sat around wondering when Marco would come back. Maybe his stunt with the magnets yesterday had really knocked him out cold; despite still being a little embarrassed from what they referenced, I’d left the magnets in place.

I leaned into my hands over the kitchen table as I stared at them, trying to contemplate what my real problem with everyone was. I tried to think of any reason why something as simple as “sorry” was practically impossible for me. It wasn’t like I had never done it before - in fact, I’d apologized quite a bit to them over the years, for all sorts of reasons. In my memory, this was one of the only times I never had right away. I shut my eyes. I knew it was all stupid and petty, but… what if they didn’t accept it this time? What if it was too late?  _What if this time... they'd finally had enough of me?_

As I felt my stomach twist into a knot, I realized that was exactly what was holding me back.

“I’m scared, okay?” I suddenly said aloud.

A chill fell over me, so I knew Marco was there, yet I couldn’t see him.

“Scared?” He echoed.

“I’m scared they’ll reject it. I’m scared… that ‘sorry’ won’t be good enough this time.”

“I doubt that, Jean.” Marco said, from somewhere behind me, “And even if they did - which, they won’t - at least you can say you tried, right?”

I sighed something heavy and buried my head into my arms. Somehow, that hadn’t made me feel any better. “Right…”

“You’re a funny person, you know…”

I lifted my head slightly, making sight of Marco near the kitchen sink. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Marco smiled and seemed to be staring out the window. Where he claimed to see nothing, I saw the warm light of the mid-morning sun bathing the neighborhood. Trees were starting to change color and the first fallen leaves of the season were dancing across the street when cars drove by.

“You’re more scared of your friends than you are of me.”

“Well, you're a lot nicer than my friends.” I told him, watching as he turned towards me.

Our gazes met, and we both fell stilled. I don’t know why, but I couldn’t break away from him. He looked so… amazed, as if he were seeing something for the first time, yet he was looking only at me. And I don’t know if it was him, or the sunlight surrounding him, but he was glowing warmly, and it was so vivid and clear that I no longer saw through him. It was like he was alive again, like his photograph.

No one had ever, ever looked at me that way before.

The sound of knocking at the front door broke us away from… whatever it was. I was so momentarily stunned that it took a second round of rapid, hard knocking to send me for the door. Marco trailed behind me and I shot him a look before my hand reached the doorknob.

“Don’t worry, they won’t see me.” He insisted.

“You’d better hope not.”

I found Armin at the doorstep, out-of-breath, with his hand clenched into a fist as he was preparing for another round of desperate knocking. He looked pale, panicked, and shaky.

“Armin? Hey, hey - what’s wrong?”

“Is it true?” He asked - no, _demanded_.

I don’t know why my thoughts went to Marco, but I started to panic, myself. “W-What?”

“Everyone’s saying you got fired,” Armin explained breathlessly, “Is it true?”

For some reason, my form of defense always appeared in the form of anger. “Fired?! Seriously? Those _idiots_ …”

 _“Jean, calm down._ ” I heard Marco say from behind me and I instantly looked to see if Armin had heard him, but Armin was still staring straight at me.

“No.” I answered, sighing as I tried to calm myself, “No, I wasn’t fired… I took a leave of absence for a week. That’s all.”

“Oh…” Armin breathed, clutching the strap of his messenger bag, finally calming himself, “Okay… good. I-I just…”

“Do you want to…” I trailed off, remembering Marco was right behind me, but it was too late - Armin was already pushing past me and into the house.

He stopped in the empty space that was my living room and looked around before looking back at me.

“Uh… I still don’t have a couch or anything… but there’s chairs in the kitchen.” I explained sheepishly. _If Paradis could manifest a damn Ikea, that'd be nice._

I followed him in, every single muscle in my frame tense. Marco was definitely present, keeping just to my side, but true to his word, Armin didn’t appear to see him.

“Want some water or something?” I asked Armin.

“Maybe in a minute…” He mumbled, “I’m sorry… I’d been meaning to stop by to check on you, but then I saw the group chat this morning…”

“Heh, group chat, of course.” I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms. I really hated 2018. “What’d they say?”

“Basically that you were pulled into the office last Saturday and that Hange escorted you out. Everyone’s pretty convinced you were fired.”

“Yeah? Bet they’re thrilled.”

 _“Jean.”_ Marco snapped.

“N-No, actually… they’re really worried. We've all been.” Armin told me, and in the corner of my eye, I saw Marco throw his hands in the air in a total “told you so” motion.

Somehow, I ignored him and took a chair with Armin. “Worried?”

“They’ve _been_ worried,” Armin started, “Most of us, anyway… you know how Eren is, but I think deep down he misses you… he told me Titan’s is actually pretty boring without you, believe it or not. And… well, I think Connie’s still pretty heated over everything that happened, but Sasha’s been trying to get him to stop being stubborn, but he’s just real hurt, you know? Marlowe and Hitch have totally switched off - _Levi_ had to step in to help restore your department last night. Even _Annie’s_ asked about you.”

“Annie?” I repeated, instinctively looking to Marco, who looked from me to Armin. Armin didn’t seem to notice, his eyes trained on the table between us.

I felt my shoulders tighten up and I breathed to relax them back again. “If everyone’s so worried, why haven’t they called me? Or just come over, like you? Not like where I live is a secret.”

Armin shook his head. “I guess they’ve tried, but you never responded…?”

My first thought was that had to be a lie, before I remembered I had been using a burner phone for nearly a week. My original had been totally fried (looking at you, Marco), so I had been given a new one under the warranty. Maybe between phones, their attempts had never came through?

“And everyone’s too scared to come by…” Armin was still going on, as if he knew where my thoughts were going next, “I-I shouldn’t even be telling you all this… but everyone’s being so stupid, Jean! I wish you’d all just apologize to each other already!”

Armin looked like he was about to cry from frustration and I fell silent. Suddenly, my fears didn’t matter. My pride didn’t matter. This shit was affecting _more_ than just me and the other guilty parties. It was affecting bystanders, like Armin. I couldn’t take that realization. Not for a second. I’d apologize forever if it meant saving myself from seeing Armin practically breaking down at my kitchen table.

“Jean, it’s… freezing in here.” Armin said shakily, looking up at me. “A-Are... the ghosts here right now?”

 _Damn it, damn it, damn it._ I tried _really_ hard not to look at Marco.

 _“He knows?”_ Marco questioned, as if I could even reply to him right now.

“Jean?” Armin asked softly and much more concernedly, “Is it Marco?”

_“He knows my name?!”_

“Jean…?”

_“Jean!”_

“Armin.” I said, before exhaling, “Do you see anything?”

Armin’s eyes narrowed before he glanced around the kitchen. “I don’t know. Where am I supposed to look?”

I swallowed and glanced towards Marco, who was just to my left. Marco looked nervously to Armin. Slowly, I pointed towards him. “Right here?”

Armin followed my gesture, and even took his glasses off for a moment before putting them back on. “No…?”

 _“Jean, only_ you _can see me right now. It’s the same reason you hear me. The veil isn’t thin enough for…_ other people. _”_

 _Other people, huh?_ You know, Marco had never really explained what that reason was, but I was making a gigantic mental note to interrogate him over it later.

“R-Right…” I said quietly, half-smiling, “You… probably think I’m nuts, don’t you?”

Armin pursed his lips, then shook his head. “No. I don’t. I might not see him, like you do… but I definitely feel something’s _here_. In fact, it was as soon as I walked in...”

“So you believe me?”

Armin’s features softened. “Jean, I believed you as soon as you told me everything in the library. You didn’t have any reason to lie about it. I mean, that’s the whole reason all this fighting started in the first place, anyways...”

 _“What...?”_ I heard Marco ask. Right… looked like he wasn’t the only one who was getting interrogated after Armin left...

“You… seem like you’re alright, though.” Armin continued, “A-Are you?”

I just nodded. “Yeah. Don’t get me wrong, it’s… it’s _weird_ \- ” (Marco glared; sorry, wrong word choice.) “But… I’m alright.”

“So are you still going to…” Armin trailed off, and like an _idiot_ , I questioned him.

“Going to what?”

Armin hunched his shoulders in and invited me a little closer. Just above a whisper, he asked, “Are you still going to have Mikasa purify the house?”

I felt my bones absolutely freeze over.

_“Jean, you…”_

Yeah, sorry, sort of missed _that_ little detail, Marco - thanks Armin. _Shit._ I tried to remain calm as Marco vanished from the room.

“I don’t think I have to!” I said quickly, and probably more loudly than I need to, but I wanted Marco to hear me out, “The ghost, I mean… Marco. He’s not... bad. I don’t think I need to anymore.”

“What about… the other one you said you saw?”

“It’s gone.” I claimed, and a point of stillness followed.

I knew it was a half-truth… _half-lie_. 

Armin looked around uncomfortably. “Are you sure you’re safe here, Jean? I don’t mean to pry. I just want to make sure, and I promise won’t ask you again.”

I could only shrug. “Well, I haven’t left yet, so…”

“Right… well, if you’re ever _not_ … I trust you’ll… do what you have to do about it.”

Armin looked down and fiddled with his hands and it reminded me of Marco; I felt sick. Armin must’ve sensed my apprehension and moved to get up.

“Uh, anyways, I have class soon…” He started, “I just wanted to check on you.”

“I appreciate it.”

Armin then hesitated.

“Hey, look, um… Ymir’s having a kickback Thursday night at her place. If you feel up for it, maybe it’d be a good opportunity to try and… smooth things over with everyone. I-I’ll take the blame for inviting you, too, so don’t worry about that part… what do you say?”

This must've been the real reason Armin had came by. I paused to think.

“I-I guess… but why the hell are you looking out for me like this?”

Armin smiled to himself and hugged his bag closer. “I don’t think the others realize it yet, but they’re just better with you around. We all are. And I just want everybody to be happy again.”

“And their happiness is dependent on my presence?” I asked, grinning.

Armin only chuckled, “Not sure about ‘dependent’, but… it’s just better, Jean. The happiness is better. Yours is better, too. I feel like we’re all one big puzzle and you’re like a missing… stubbornly-shaped piece.”

“ _Wow_ , okay...” I replied, mock-offended before seeing him out. “So… Thursday, then?”

Armin nodded and turned to walk back down the sidewalk. I shut the door with my back and my thoughts started racing. Everyone was... worried about me? Why couldn’t I believe it? Why did I feel so much doubt, when I should’ve felt relief?

I didn’t have time to dissect it; I needed to Marco and explain the context of things; hide-and-seek had never been my forte as a kid and now I had to play hide-and-seek with a ghost? This would go over well...

I checked the basement first, since he seemed to be gravitated there. It made sense _why_ , but I tried not to think about _why_ because it made me feel sick… lately, it had been easy for me to forget the circumstances of his presence. Moving up, I gradually I scaled the entire house, getting more and more desperate. I started to think that Marco must’ve been purposely avoiding me, because I wasn’t able to find a single cold spot anywhere.

“Okay, I give up.” I called out from the top of the stairs, “Where’d you go?”

Silence.

“Marco!” I tried again, to more silence. "Marco?"

I was distressed, but it wasn’t like this was the first time that Marco had blipped out on me. He’d have his fit and wind up in my room later, like he usually did. I’d just have to wait.

* * *

Wednesday night. Five days into my work leave, one day away from Ymir’s party, and four days since I had seen or felt anything from Marco.

It wasn’t a long time in itself, but for a ghost who had developed a habit of checking in with me every day, it was beyond troubling. I had tried everything to signal him back: talking to him, calling for him, and… God-forbid… even _singing in the shower_.

But there was nothing.

Part of me seriously hoped the veil or whatever had thickened up, and maybe _that_ was why, but… I wasn’t so sure. In one conversation with Armin, Marco had discovered the things I had neglected to tell him: that _others_ knew about him, that the fight with my friends had happened over the nature of his presence, and, worst of all, that I’d had intentions of purifying the house at one point.

“Idiot…” I grumbled loudly, “If you’d just come back, I could explain everything.”

I could explain it was _only_ Armin who knew. I could explain the fight with my friends had nothing to do with him - that it went well beyond the house, even - that it all came down to me blowing them off too many times. I could explain that purifying the house was brought up _before_ I’d really met him, when I had encountered not only him, but the spectre that - come to think of it - he seemed so forbidden to tell me about.

“Marco, please,” I tried again, “It’s been four days. I get that you’re probably hurt, alright? And I’m sorry if you are. But I can’t help you if you keep dodging me like this!”

Suddenly, a tell-tale chill hit the back of my neck. I wheeled around to see Marco, finally, seemingly _clapping_ for me down the hallway. Stunned, I just watched him slowly erupt into laughter and I grit my teeth. I don’t think I had ever felt my emotions change so fast, from desperation, to relief, to anger.

“What’s so funny, damn it?!” I called out to him; I _wanted_ to be mad, but my heart wasn’t cooperating - Marco was back. _He was okay._

“You said it yourself, just now...” Marco said between chuckles, seemingly wiping tears from his eyes. Note to self: ghosts could laugh so hard they cried.

“W-What? What’d I say?” I asked, stumbling towards him, “Come on, don’t screw with me like this - ”

“‘I can’t help you if you keep dodging me like this.’” He repeated my words and crossed his arms. “Do you think your friends might feel the same way about you?”

I could only stare at him as the realization struck me. In the same way Marco had avoided me, I had been avoiding them. It wasn’t that I _wasn’t_ getting an apology from them, but I wasn’t allowing them the option for one. I couldn’t just blame my phone, either. I couldn’t blame the surprise leave-of-absence that Hange had convinced Levi into giving me. The street I was on wasn’t one-way.

I slowly looked down at the floor, saying nothing. Just taking it in, unsure if I felt better or worse.

“It didn’t feel too good, did it?” Marco chimed in again, and I felt my fists ball up. Now he was just pushing it, yet… I was so grateful for it. I felt a mix of things as I could see my own breath in front of my face.

“No,” I finally muttered, “It felt like shit. Thinking you were upset with me… and not being able to reach you, and set it straight...”

I imagined my friends staring at read messages on their phones without any reply. I imagined them looking towards me at the store as I looked away. I imagined even further back, as they planned their outings and parties at their new apartments and dorms, shooting me messages, only to receive constant excuses and refusals and having no idea _why_ \- having no idea it was because I felt embarrassed for still living at home, and could never extend them the same invitations. For years, until they just gave up on it because - _Jean, oh, he’s become a total hermit. Don’t bother, he’ll just say no. Maybe he’s too good for us? Mr. Mature and all. Did you hear that he finally moved out? Where? That house on Trost Street. But isn’t it haunted? What’s he thinking, moving in there of all places? Is he showing off or something? Probably. So, when’s he going to invite us over? Never. Oh, come on. Keep teasing him! Maybe he’ll get so fed up, he’ll have no choice but to have us over to_ _prove the house isn’t haunted…_

 _Fuck._ I clenched the bridge of my nose between my fingers. That was _exactly_ what their logic in everything had been.

“I’m sorry I avoided you, Jean.” Marco said, but my gaze stayed fixed on my feet, “I really _was_ upset at first. It wasn’t easy for me either, but I had a feeling it would help you, so...”

“Don’t do it again.” I said suddenly.

“Huh…?”

“Don’t disappear on me again.” I finally looked up at him and our gazes were trapped again.

Marco’s confusion shifted into something of guilt and understanding. He braved another smile, just for me, and it was something that caused me to shift into a feeling I had never felt in my life.

“I won’t.” He told me.

Hesitantly, I reached towards him. “Promise me.”

“Jean…” Marco drifted away from my hand, “You can’t…”

“I can see you… and I can hear you… shouldn’t I be able to feel you, too?” I asked quietly.

Marco seemed to sense something similar to what I was feeling as his words became just as quiet, and the way he was looking at me was so...

“Jean, you’ll just go right through me…” He tried to insist, smiling sadly, yet he kept inching away. But _why?_ If I’d just go right through him, why was he backing off...?

I let my hand fall back to my side. My face was nice and warm from embarrassment, now. I tried to smirk but I think I just looked like I was about to cry. “Sorry…”

I don’t know what I had been thinking, in that moment. I don’t know what I had been _feeling_. But I think the strangest part was that it all felt so _familiar_ …

* * *

With Marco’s return I was definitely in higher spirits - no pun intended - but the anxiety of getting ready to go to Ymir’s was eating me alive. I was standing in front of the mirror, fixing my hair, while Marco leaned in the doorway, watching.

“You’d look nice with it grown out a little more.” He commented.

“Are you saying I don’t look nice now?” I barked back, making him laugh.

“You really need to work on how defensive you get over things.”

I grimaced to myself. "You're not wrong."

“Are you excited?” Marco asked and for a moment I had to wonder if he was serious or joking.

“Take a guess.” I quipped.

As I headed downstairs, keys and phone in hand, I stopped short of the front door. If I had a chance to back out, this would be it. Right here. I could let it go. Let them have their fling. Mildly disappoint Armin, but otherwise be alright… well, until Marco chastised me for the rest of the night. Maybe I didn’t really have a choice.

“You’ll be fine, Jean.” Marco encouraged.

I looked over my shoulder at him. “And if I’m not?”

“Then… you’ll find a way to be fine again.”

I felt my chest tighten at his words, at the sight of him beaming at me from the staircase. He was so _sure_ of me. What an idiot. I smiled slightly in return. I couldn’t let that smile down.

* * *

 

I parked on the total opposite side of Ymir’s apartment complex. I thought I was being clever; I didn’t want everybody to see my car before they saw me and start getting the jump on me before I even got to the door. As I navigated the concrete pathways up to her block, my anxiety had gone from slightly concerned to almost full-blown panic. I had to stop myself near the pool area to catch my breath. It was closed for the season, and the surface was covered with fallen leaves.

Suddenly, I wasn’t so sure if I could do this.

I pulled out my phone to check the time. If everybody was as punctual as I remembered them being, they were all probably there already.

Out-of-nowhere, my phone buzzed.

**Armin:**

**I’ll wait for you outside and we can go in together.**

What? Where had _that_ from? Had Armin seen me arrive or something? Confused, I opened the thread to see that I had apparently texted him first:

**I’m on my way. Feeling really nervous. :(**

But the thing was, I _hadn’t_ … and even more disturbing was that I never, _ever_ used emojis... unless...

I sighed and let my hands fall to my sides. _Damn it, Marco Bott._

I felt myself smile just a little and I continued on my way. Sure enough, Armin was standing outside. I couldn’t miss his blonde mop of hair anywhere. When he heard my footsteps, he turned and smiled brightly.

“Hey, Jean. Ready?”

“Not really, but here I am.”

We both looked to the steps leading up to Ymir’s apartment. With each stair, I could feel my anxiety coiling up like a burning hot rope inside my stomach, and all I wanted to do was turn around, yet my legs moved me forward. As Armin turned the handle and the door opened, I think my heart was very close to giving out, but then I remembered something Marco had said.

_“You’re a funny person, you know. You’re more scared of your friends than you are of me.”_

Yep, apparently I was a real comedian.

I watched as everyone looked up from their conversations to see us before a wave of utter silence hit. Talk about the definition record-scratch moments. Armin, unfazed, slipped back behind me and shut the door.

I looked over everyone there - and it was everyone, alright. Eren, Mikasa, Krista, Sasha, Marlowe, Hitch, Annie, Krista, Ymir. Somehow, all of them had packed into the living room space of a one bedroom apartment. I must’ve stood there gaping for a while, because finally Eren - _of all people_ \- got up and approached me first.

His eyes were intense and all fiery like usual, but his posture was relaxed and controlled. He extended his hand to me, and after a beat, I took into mine and we shook; it was all I needed with Eren, and apparently all he needed, too.

Marlowe and Hitch followed Eren’s lead and half-hugged me really quick, whispering small “good to see you’s” before I saw Sasha was practically shoving Connie towards me. I felt frozen again. Connie was as stiff as a board himself, his arms were tightly crossed and his eyes locked on my feet.

I looked to Sasha, who looked to Connie.

“Well?” She whispered through grit teeth, making him cringe and lock up further, “Just say sorry!”

“Sasha,” I started, “It’s alright. He doesn’t need to be sorry for anything. None of you do.”

At my words, everyone stilled. I breathed in, then out. I could feel Armin right at my side, and Connie’s eyes finally met my own.

“Look, I’m sorry I blew up on you guys. And to do it at work, well… it wasn’t professional, either. But I’m not just sorry for that. I’m sorry for not apologizing sooner. And avoiding you all. And…” I began to ramble, but I didn’t care, “I’m sorry for always turning you down… to the point where you stopped trying. I guess it was one of those things where I didn’t even realize I was even doing it. And the house isn’t an excuse, either, but… it was a lot for me to do on my own, and even now… it’s been a lot for me to adjust to… I didn’t mean to get so defensive about it. I'll try to be better. Really. I just… I hope we can all just be cool again.”

As my words settled over them, I watched as Connie took in a breath.

“Eh, I’m sorry, too, dude. I went too far.” He said, as he glanced to Annie, “And not just with you...”

“I don’t know if you got my texts, but I’m really sorry too, okay?” Sasha started, her lip trembling, “And I tried to stop by, but I chickened out - I just thought you hated us or something!”

“Seriously?” I felt myself start to snicker, “You boneheads drive me nuts sometimes, but I could never hate you. _Ever_.”

“Sweet, glad that's over. Everybody make out now.” Ymir called out, creating a ripple of laughter over the space as Connie and Sasha came forward.

The two of them had a thing about hugging me for a long time - long enough to make it awkward, and usually I’d bat them away, but this time, I just _let_ them. At that moment, it was the greatest feeling in the world. I allowed them to hug me until I heard them start whispering into my jacket.

“He hasn’t shoved us off yet.”

“Oh, this is weird.”

“Is this our Jean, or some kind of lookalike?”

“With an apology like that, it’s probably a lookalike. The real Jean is brooding somewhere else hoping we’ll buy it.”

“So this isn’t really Jean? That’s creepy! This is creepy!”

“I can hear you guys!” I finally cut in, making them both laugh and squirm away from me.

“Nope, nevermind, that’s definitely the real Jean!”

The music was turned back up and Armin snaked around me, but not before I caught his shoulder in my hand. He turned and looked up to me, eyes bright.

“Thank you.” I told him, before scuffing up his hair. I couldn’t help it, and he didn’t seem to mind.

As the overall relief faded into normalcy, I found a section of the couch with Marlowe and Hitch, and for the next half hour, they went into detail over all of the problems they had been facing at Titan’s without me. I had to keep myself from cackling and advised them on what to do until I got back on Saturday.

Krista overheard. “So you _weren’t_ fired?” She asked.

“No! I took a leave of absence. That’s all.”

_“Bummer.”_

“Shut up, Yeager. You know you missed me.”

“Seriously - Armin, did you...?”

“What? No!”

Somewhere between all of the conversations taking off and coming back down in all corners of the apartment, alcohol was introduced. As Annie, Mikasa, and Armin (the most intelligent members of the group) refrained, the rest of us decided to kill off an entire bottle within an hour. As I slipped into a comforting, warm feeling, I found myself glancing over at Mikasa a lot. Not because she was still the most beautiful girl I had ever seen, but over the fact she always seemed to be looking back at me. That was… _new_. For once, she didn’t seem the slightest bit concerned with the drinking game Eren was playing in the kitchen with Sasha. I had to actually take a closer look at my half-sipped shot glass - what the hell kind of vodka was this, anyways? 120 proof?

I closed my eyes and rested my head back on the couch.

“Get out of the way!” Hitch’s voice.

Then Marlowe’s. “Ladies first.”

“I really enjoy having these, but I think if our group gets any bigger we’ll need a three bedroom, Ymir.” Krista sighed, “And I have no idea where we’re doing the Halloween party this year.”

“You guys can always kick it at my place!” Connie reminded.

“Yeah, but we can’t drink with your jerk roommate around...” Marlowe countered him.

The group’s conversation circled to the best place to have a kick back, but between buzzkill roommates and tiny apartments, their options seemed bleak.

“Dude. Hold up. Jean, what about your place?”

“What about it?” I asked, opening my eyes only to pour myself another shot from the second bottle that was now circulating across the couch. Probably a mistake.

“Can we throw the Halloween party there?”

“Oh my God, that would be perfect. Especially since it’s _that_ house.”

_“Shhh. No house jokes!”_

“Whatever, he’s cool now. Right, Jean? It’ll seriously be the best Halloween party ever. You don't even have to do anything. We'll set it up.”

“Can we, Jean?”

“What’d you say?”

I took another shot to the chorus of pleading as the alcohol spoke for me.

“Sure thing.”

* * *

Before I knew it, Mikasa had moved next to me. Her red scarf was still wrapped neatly around her face despite the temperature in the room exceeding 90 degrees between the lot of us.

“Jean…” She started. Her voice seemed so… concerned. God, I must’ve been plastered by this point to think Mikasa was interested in me. I needed to give the rest of my shot away to someone else - I was done.

“...still need me to.”

“Need you?” I repeated. I felt shitty for not hearing her over the sound of Rihanna blaring.

“To purify your house.”

“Oh, that? N-No, I’m okay. Marco’s nice.” I explained, my face flushing. Everything was so warm. Mikasa was close, too - closer than she’d ever been to me. I could actually see the highlights in her eyes. I was getting lost in them.

“Marco?” Mikasa asked.

“Yeah, he’s great. Marco. Great guy. He’s…” As I rambled, my thoughts went to Marco. Mikasa’s hair was black like his. She didn’t have his freckles, though. I don’t why I suddenly felt like I had a thing for freckles. His freckles. And his smile. And him.

“Did he say Marco?” I heard someone who wasn’t Mikasa speaking but my eyelids were steadily dropping. Suddenly, sleep sounded like the best thing in the world.

“Yes.”

I felt two small, but strong hands grasp my shoulders tightly. The girl’s voice again. Wasn't Mikasa. Or Sasha. Blonde hair. Krista? “Jean. Jean, wake up. Now.”

“Can’t.” I protested. I really couldn’t. I wanted to pass out. I wondered if this was how Marco felt when he ran out of energy, only to wake up in another room. Was being a ghost like being drunk all the time? I laughed to myself. I’d have to ask him...

“How much did he drink?” The girl asked, voice stone-cold. Definitely not Krista. _Wait, Annie…?_

“A lot. I’ve been watching him all night. At least seven.”

 _“Straight?”_ Came the unison voices of Connie and Sasha from somewhere behind Annie.

“No piggy-back rides in my living room.” Ymir barked suddenly.

“Damn, did I really have seven…?” I said, lifting up my shot glass again. Annie was indeed right in front of me, face nothing short of concerned, while Mikasa took the glass out of my hand.

“Make it seven and a half.” Mikasa corrected.

“Our first casualty.” Sasha declared.

I heard Connie laughing, “He’s done for.”

_“You two get back down before you crash into my fucking television!”_

I felt Annie’s hands reach for my face and pat my cheeks. They were soft, but super cold. I wondered if that was what Marco’s hands felt like. Were they cold like this? I kept my eyes closed and tried to imagine him holding me.

“Jean. Wake up.”

“Let him be, Annie. He’s out.”

And I was.

I wouldn’t remember any of it when I woke up the next morning on the living room floor. Connie and Sasha were on either side of me, and a single duvet had been haphazardly thrown over us. It seemed as though Sasha had taken most of it to herself, leaving Connie shivering beside me. I blinked a few times and sat up slowly, noticing that everyone else seemed to have left. I scooted out of the blanket and tugged my half over Connie.

Then, the nausea hit.

* * *

Krista tended to the three of us with Ibuprofen and Powerade. The striking red color of the Powerade made me want to puke, but I forced it down as Connie and Sasha struggled to keep their heads up.

“Any one of you pukes anywhere except for the toilet and I’ll kill you,” Ymir sang as she started breakfast I was pretty certain that, despite her smile, she was absolutely serious.

I clutched my head. Ymir cracking an egg against the rim of the pan made my stomach lurch. The smell was worse. I didn’t want to think about food and I definitely didn’t want to smell food. But in all my misery, I was happy to have something like _this_ as my main problem again. After everything I’d gone through this year, a hangover was the easiest thing in the world.

It was close to nine in the morning by the time I felt well enough to drive home. I couldn’t say the same for Connie or Sasha, who opted to hang at Ymir’s a little while longer. I patted their heads before I left, after helping Krista and Ymir with the trash.

As I stepped outside, garbage bags in hand, I noticed a figure sitting at the bottom of the stairs.

Striking blue eyes met my own.

“Annie?”

“Hey.”

I awkwardly met her towards the bottom of the stairs and she reached for one of the bags. Before I could insist I had it, she took both of them from me and started for the dumpster.

“How long have you been sitting out here?” I asked, following her.

“Not very long.” She answered shortly, carrying the bags like they weighed nothing; we seriously needed to switch departments at work.

“Waiting for a ride?” I figured.

“I have a car.” She answered, heaving the bags up and into the bin before looking to me again. “I was waiting for you.”

I felt my head tilt. _Moi?_

“I highly doubt you remember last night,” She started, folding her arms as her breath puffed out between us, “But you started talking… and you mentioned something about Marco.”

My mouth parted as I tried to remember what that something was. But did it matter? I’d mentioned Marco. It hadn’t been to everyone, had it? How much had I said? Annie must’ve noticed the dumb look on my face.

“Thought so.” Was all she said, huffing, “... so you lied to me?”

Well, this wasn’t good. One problem fixed - bam, here’s another for ya. The universe seriously hated me.

“Well, I…” _I was just joking around. I was just drunk. I don’t know what I was talking about._

No. No more lies. No more trouble. Fix what’s broken as soon as it’s broken.

“That was before…” I trailed off. _Why was this so hard?_ “That was before I saw him.”

Annie was searching my expression, becoming less and less stoic as something I could only recognize as grief came over her own.

“So, he _is_ still there?” She asked, even though it was already something realized.

I nodded quietly as a small whirlwind of leaves blew around us.

“Can I come over there? I need to see him.”

“Right now?”

“Yes.”

I suddenly felt tense. She had _known_ Marco before he died. She was the one who had _found_ him. I don’t think she was the slightest bit prepared to see him, and I don’t think he was any more prepared to see her...

“Annie, look, I don’t think you’ll be able to - ”

“I don’t care.” She cut me off. Her voice wasn’t so much cold, as it was now desperate. “I want to try. Please.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and pulled out my car keys.

“I’m parked on the other side,” I explained quietly, “C’mon…”

* * *

I was sweating, despite it being still being in the low 50’s outside. My hands kept slipping on the wheel as I drove as Annie stared out the window.

“How long, Jean?” She asked me after we’d lost to the longest red light in Paradis.

I knew she meant how long I had known Marco was around. “Not long. Just over a week, I think...”

_Weird, it felt like it had been so much longer than that…_

Come to think of it, a lot of things regarding Marco felt that way to me. As if I had known him for years. I suddenly began feeling extremely protective of him, but what was I going to do? Tell Annie no? Deny her the chance to see Marco again? She probably wouldn't even see him, anyways, like Armin. And Marco... well, I wasn't sure how he'd feel, really. Maybe a little shocked to see how much older Annie was, but it wasn't like he wasn't aware of how long it had been. Maybe this would be a _good thing_ , for both of them.

Annie stayed quiet until we finally pulled onto Trost Street. No sooner than I had parked the car that Annie said something to make my blood run cold...

“I’m the reason Marco died.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who has read, commented, and given kudos so far - you're the ones keeping this going & i appreciate you all <3 - numby

**Author's Note:**

> I heard a song about a ghost the other day, then this happened. '.')


End file.
